To Win Her Trust (24 page)

At the gate, he presented their tickets and led her through the swarming halls to their seating section. Bright sunlight hit her face as they exited the tunnel. She blinked behind her sunglasses. The salty scent of popcorn mixed with the tang of hot dogs and made her nostrils flare. At the bottom of the steep flight of stairs, the cardboard brown of the pitcher’s mound and baselines was stark against the verdant green carpet of grass. She descended the steps beside him until he stopped at the second row from the bottom, twenty feet from first base. She slid past him, stepping by the row of strangers to the seat he indicated.

“Wow,” she said as he slid into his seat beside her. “We’re practically on the field.”

He grinned. “Yeah, great seats, aren’t they? The guy who owned them ran into some financial difficulties or he never would have parted with them.”

“People are allowed to own seats?”

To her left, a bald, beefy stranger with an impressive beer belly snickered. She stiffened, pressing her back into the chair as he leaned around her to grin at Tuck. “She’s cute, but she doesn’t know shit about baseball.”

Tuck grinned, and she shot him a raised brow. “Fuck you, Mike. Season ticket holders, sunshine. With the Yankees, available seats are pretty much impossible to come by unless you strike a deal with a current holder.”

“And second row, first base line is the golden ticket of season tickets.” Mike belched.

She grimaced and he blushed.

“Sorry. There was a mob ten thick rushing Parker for those seats. I’m not sure how he did it, but your boy here beat them all out for the prize.”

“I have superior negotiation skills,” Tuck said lazily. He winked at her, his smile full of sultry suggestion. The memory of how his negotiating skills had paid off just a handful of hours ago heated her cheeks in a blush.

“More like a superior bank account.” Mike shoved half a hot dog in his mouth and chewed.

Tuck chuckled. “CC, this loudmouth is Mike O’Toole.”

Mike shifted in his seat, his wide shoulder brushing hers, to hold out a hand.

She tried not to stare at the glob of mustard clogging the corner of his mouth. “Uh, hi, Mike.” She placed her hand in his large paw, happy to find it uncrushed when he released it after a hardy pump.

“Pleased to meet you, CC.”

“Mike considers himself the resident expert on all things baseball,” Tuck explained.

“I
am
the resident expert, around here anyway.” The big man winked. “Anything you want to know about the game, honey, you just ask.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tuck signaled a passing vendor, procuring two plastic cups of cold beer and held up two fingers to another vendor hawking hot dogs. She flinched when the man tossed two foil wrapped missiles from the aisle. Tuck caught them with practiced ease, and she watched his twenty dollar bill make its way down the row of fans to the waiting man.

Like a palpable force, excitement for the coming competition vibrated through the stadium. The rumble of shifting bodies was surprisingly loud as she, along with the crowd, rose to her feet for the national anthem. Disconcerted, she examined the odd sense of camaraderie that came from singing along with fifty thousand strangers. She snuck a peek at Tuck. He sang unapologetically, his deep voice added to the thousands of others. Contentment softened his tough-guy features.

An answering softness turned her insides to mush, and she looked away. Last night, as he’d been about to change her body irreversibly, if not her life, he’d made a comment that had kept her awake long after he’d drifted off beside her. Sure, “I love that about you” wasn’t the same as I love you, but the word, coming from his lips and directed at her, made her heart skitter with a hope she had no business feeling.

She blinked as the anthem came to an end. There was nothing she could do about her foolish heart at the moment and, in the end, she didn’t regret her decision to spend the night with him, or the three weeks of their agreement. She might be playing with fire, but oh, what a lovely way to burn. He was right. She’d allowed her dysfunctional past to cheat her of a normal future. Well, that was done. Today she’d taken a wide step toward emotional freedom, and so far, at least, the results were promising.

The next few hours passed in a flurry of wild euphoria and nail-biting anxiety. The lead changed hands six times in the first eight innings, much to the home fans’ dismay. Finally, with one inning to go, the Bronx Bombers were out front, but just barely. Despite Mike’s announced prowess of baseball facts, Tuck made a point of explaining the game in process.

The courtesy was unnecessary. Thanks to Kris, CC knew more about most of the major sports, including baseball, than she cared to. Though her cousin lived for football, the large screen TV upstairs in their living room was forever tuned to whatever sport the season offered, once the gridiron boys hit the golf courses, of course.

She didn’t bother correcting Tuck’s misconception of her knowledge. In fact, she was as charmed by his gentle tutoring as she was his obvious enjoyment of the game. With boyish enthusiasm, he celebrated each success along with the fans and players, and added his voice of displeasure to the crowd’s when things didn’t go the Yankees’ way.

In the bottom of the ninth, she groaned along with everyone else when the tying run advanced to third. Thanks to the left fielder’s bobbled catch, the visiting player slid into third with an inch to spare. The stadium erupted in catcalls and boos as the runner was judged safe. Like jack-in-the-box bookends, Tuck and Mike leaped to their feet to join the melee.

“That’s bullshit.” Mike tossed his third hot dog wrapper to the ground in disgust. “He didn’t tag up. Hey, Ump, are you blind? He didn’t tag up. He was running before the ball was caught!”

On the field, the third base coach made his argument to the umpire with waving arms and bulging neck veins, to no avail. The on-deck batter moved to the batter’s box.

Mike dropped back into his seat and turned to Tuck. “Do you believe this shit? He didn’t tag up.”

“They must be asleep in the dugout.” Tuck sat down with a frown. “Why the hell aren’t they challenging the play?”

“Maybe because there’s nothing to challenge.” Both men turned to stare at her. Tuck’s lips turned down in a slight frown, but Mike looked as if he’d swallowed a bug.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, CC.” He flung out an arm toward the Jumbotron. The crowd booed as the replay cued up. He turned to her with a smirk. “He left the bag before the ball was caught.”

“Cut her some slack. It’s her first game.” Tuck swung an arm around the back of her seat.

She shrugged. “The sacrifice fly rule states the runner can leave the moment the ball touches the glove, not when the ball is caught. If the fielder hadn’t bobbled the ball, he’d have caught him.”

Twin looks of disbelief met her assertion. She burst out laughing.

Before either man could comment, the crack of the bat drew their attention. The popup went high and sailed foul, skimming the first base line. CC followed the progress of the first baseman. With the game winning catch within his reach, he raced straight toward their seating section, head thrown back in the sunlight.

Time seemed to slow as she followed his steps. Arm extended, he stretched out like a ballet dancer in the midst of a graceful leap, and with a quiet poof, the ball tucked into the pocket of his glove. Unfortunately, momentum wasn’t his friend. One leg clipped the rail, and he sailed straight for the fan sitting directly in front of her.

She had no time to cringe as the man ducked. To his credit, the player twisted his body at the last moment, in an effort to avoid a head-on collision. He didn’t quite manage the maneuver. Pain exploded in her right cheekbone, and a solid thud to her chest burst the air from her lungs on a whoosh.

Mayhem ensued. The euphoric roar of the crowd pulsed in her ears as two hundred pounds of hard athlete pinned her in her seat. Her face throbbed, and pain radiated from her sternum, lessening instantly when the player rolled from her lap to lift his glove triumphantly.

“Jesus, CC.”

Tuck’s frantic voice reached her above the chaos of tangled bodies and the roaring crowd. His worried face swam into view. He squatted down in front of her. Over his shoulder, the first baseman’s eyes were full of concern. He ignored the celebratory pats to his back to lean close.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

“I’m fine.” She lifted shaky fingers to her cheekbone. How could something so numb hurt so bad? She attempted to straighten in her seat.

“Don’t move.” Tuck glanced over his shoulder. “Get a medic down here.”

Panic reared its ugly head. “I don’t need a medic. I just need to get up.”

“You took quite a hit, ma’am. The stadium medics are going to want to check you out.”

“No!” She clawed against Tuck’s hands on her shoulders, giving up when he held her firm. “I mean, I’m fine. I don’t need anyone to see me. Please. You, ah, you should get back to the field.” Her attempt at a smile only increased the throbbing. “I promise you I’m fine. I just need some room.”

“Give her some room,” Tuck growled. “Mike, get these people out of here.”

Mike turned. “You heard her, folks. Get lost.”

A shaky sigh escaped her as the player took her at her word and began making his way back to the rail. The handful of people crowding around quickly lost interest in her, understandably distracted by the celebrity first baseman in their midst, and she thanked God no one but Mike seemed to recognize Tuck. With two sports giants hovering over her….

“Damn, sunshine. I’m sorry.” He touched a finger to her cheek. She flinched and his eyes blazed. “You are hurt! Where are those medics?” he demanded of no one in particular.

Mike settled into the seat next to her and indicated the stairs. “They’re on their way.”

She jerked straight in her chair and slapped a hand over her throbbing cheekbone. Unfortunately, her new position allowed her a clear view of the field and the far wall beyond it. Her breathing hitched, and she watched her own eyes widen in sixty-foot tall, high definition.

“Oh…” Her moan throbbed against her sternum. “Oh, shit.”

Tuck’s head whipped around. When he met her gaze once more, his eyes were as wide as hers. “Fuck, I was only kidding about appearing on the Jumbotron.”

She began to pant. The Jumbotron—at Yankee Stadium! With her luck, she’d make ESPN’s play of the day.

“Breathe, CC. Oh, hell.”

“I—” She gulped. “Can’t!” Spots danced in her vision, and if she could have managed it, she’d have given Kevin Tucker a black eye. The world was closing in around her, and it was
his
fault.

“Yes, you can, baby.” He leaned in until his eyes were all she saw. “Yes, you can.”

“Give us some room, folks.” The strange male voice sounded far away. Tuck looked to his left suddenly, and she figured the paramedics had arrived. The knowledge didn’t help.

“CC, look at me.”

She blinked and focused on Tuck’s steady blue eyes.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He jerked his head toward the aisle and offered her a constrained smile. “I’m not sure these guys will let me schlep you out of here without a fight. Instead, let’s test that theory, shall we?”

He dipped his head and closed his mouth over hers. She jolted. Beyond panicked, she forced herself to focus on the firm lips touching hers. He sipped and nipped, rubbing the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip. Sound retreated, darkness threatened. She fought against oblivion, clinging to the knowledge she wasn’t alone. Tuck was here. She was going to kill him when she got the chance, but he was here.

“Sir. If you’d step back, we need to take a look at the lady.”

Snickers of laughter competed with Tuck’s low growl. He shifted his head, and his mouth owned hers. His familiar scent registered; cinnamon salvation expanded her struggling lungs. Relief came in a rush. She gasped and gulped at his mouth, desperately drawing in his attack-stopping gift. With frantic fingers, she clutched at his T-shirt. Arms, strong and sure, surrounded her, tucking her closer and pinning her arms between them. She gloried in the feeling of safety as a brush fire of heat burned away the last vestiges of the looming attack.

She purred low in her throat, struggling to free her arms. Her need to pull him closer was overwhelming. She shoved at his chest, yanking her arms up and around his neck as he shifted to give her arms room. Her fingers banged against something hard, then slid into his hair. She opened her mouth and thrilled to the immediate thrust of his tongue. Sucking at the silky marauder, she tugged him close on a needy moan.

The sharp pain in her chest turned the moan to a groan. The hot wave of pleasure receded, leaving recollection in its wake. Laughter and the roll of cheering throughout the stadium didn’t quite drown out the loud clearing of a throat.

“She doesn’t look hurt to me.” Mike’s voice held a grin.

Her eyes popped open, inches from Tuck’s. He pulled back and grimaced, an apology in his worried eyes. Her gaze flew to the top of his head. His ball cap had disappeared, and without the disguise to shade it, his gold-tipped hair gleamed in the bright sunlight.

“We still need to check her out,” a deep voice replied. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Tucker.”

Chapter 20

CC frowned as the car rumbled over the gravel drive toward the historic farmhouse. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Tuck pinned her with a stubborn stare. “You’re not checking into a hotel, and my place is out. I’m sure they have it staked out, too.”

She’d balked when he suggested she spend a few days at the Malones’ farm, but Kris’s excited phone call, saying ESPN was parked at their curb, made going home out of the question. The mystery of how they’d known where to find her was answered when Edward made a call to dispatch. Apparently, someone at the field had gotten the tags from the limo as they made their escape, and an enterprising intern at ESPN had called the car service for its pick-up location. Edward promised that wouldn’t happen again.