Love Bats Last (The Heart of the Game) (36 page)

A waiter who had been circling stepped up with a tray of champagne. “Mr. McNalley,” he said with an awkward grin, “a couple of us were hoping you’d settle a bet.”

Her dad nodded. “Excuse me, ladies. Apparently, duty calls.”

“That was sweet of him,” Jackie said as they watched Peter follow the grinning waiter.

“It’s why everybody loves him.” Her dad stepped into a circle of waiters and soon had them laughing. For all his riches and fame, he was approachable. She wasn’t the only one who felt that he cared.

“Wallflowers, eh?” A man’s voice boomed from behind them.

They turned to face two very tall men. Chloe wasn’t sure which had spoken. Both men had athletic builds, but the broad-shouldered blond man standing nearest to her caught her with a look that fused their gazes. He was doing some sort of mind meld, searching the crannies of her being and ferreting out her secrets. She forced herself to look away and back to Jackie.

“Wallflowers might soon be an endangered species,” Jackie parried. “Particularly at parties like this.” She gestured to Chloe. “This is Chloe McNalley.”

Chloe thought she saw the blond man’s eyes spark at the mention of the McNalley name. Most men’s did. Her dad was a lion in the sports scene and men paid attention.

“Dr. Esmonde is my associate vet at the Center,” Jackie added, nodding toward the dark-haired man.

“Gage will do.” Gage extended his hand to Chloe, then turned to the man with the penetrating eyes. “And this is my new buddy, Scotty. He got me tickets to the Sharks game.”

Jackie laughed. “The way to Gage’s heart, if not through his stomach, is most definitely by scoring him hockey tickets. I think Canadians have hockey pucks implanted in their hearts at birth.” She turned to the man with the mind-meld eyes. “Good to see you, Scotty.”

Gage didn’t look like a hockey player, and neither did his friend. At least Chloe didn’t think so. Growing up in the sports world, she had come to recognize that players were often of a type. But she wasn’t so sure what hockey players looked like under all that gear and padding.

“Scotty Donovan.” The blond man extended his hand to her. As his fingers brushed against hers, a rush of energy spread through her body, like tiny particles of light slipping inside and lighting a path. She pulled her hand back, hoping her surprise didn’t show in her face.

“I’m going for some of those hors d’oeuvres,” Gage said to Jackie. “Want a plate?”

“I’m beginning to think you men are plotting something,” Jackie said with a toss of her head. “Why is it that you’re always trying to feed me?”

“To lull you to sleep so I can take over the empire?”

Gage had a sweet grin, the kind you’d expect from a big brother. He headed off, leaving Scotty standing with Chloe and Jackie. The band in the next room started to play a cover rendition of “Live While We’re Young.”

“Like to dance?” Scotty said.

Chloe started backing away, to give him and Jackie room. Jackie followed and nudged her.

“He means you, Chloe. I’m due to make the rounds.” She waved toward the roomful of people crowding the foyer. “This is a work night for me; fundraising never sleeps.”

She strode off and left Chloe standing with Scotty.

Scotty held out his arm. “Shall we?”

Then he smiled. Oh no. Not
that
smile. Somehow, though she’d never seen it, she knew that the smile he was beaming at her was the kind that warned you that your world was about to be rocked. No wonder songs and books and movies and fairy tales went on about it. She never thought she’d see it, probably nobody did. And now that she had, she wasn’t sure what to do. Other than stand there feeling ridiculous.

“If you’d prefer not to dance,” he said, apparently not disturbed by the fact that she hadn’t answered, “we could get some food with Gage.”

Food was the last thing on her mind.

“No.” At her reply, his smile began to fade. She took a big sip of her wine, felt it melt into her. “I mean, I’m not hungry.” He looked puzzled. She nodded toward the dance floor as the wine warmed her from the inside out. “I would like to. Dance, that is.”

Like a sunrise on a cool midwinter morning, his smile returned. Maybe it wasn’t the wine warming her after all.

“I warn you,” he said with a laugh, “dancing is not my best sport.”

As she took his arm and felt the iron-hard muscles of his forearm beneath her hand, she wondered what his better sport might be.

They slipped between two couples and into the throng on the dance floor. He was right about his dancing skills; her toes might complain in the morning. But as he held her and moved her to the strains of a jazzy waltz, the fuzzy feeling in her chest warned her that it might not be just her toes at risk.

She started to say something to break the strange tension she felt, but the music was too loud for conversation. It always was at events like this.

He pulled her closer, swirling her with a flourish that nearly ran them into a couple attempting a serious foxtrot. His arm slid protectively around her waist, and he tugged her out of their path, mouthing a half-smiled apology. The hard planes of his chest pressed against her breasts and even through the jacket of the tux and the silk of her gown, she could feel his heat. How long had it been since she’d had a man’s arms around her? And not just any arms—he was remarkably strong, likely not a laptop-toting academic. The thought brought a smile to her lips. She glanced up. He was staring at her mouth.

The music stopped. He released her and stepped back. They stood unmoving in that awkward pause that ensues when the music stops on a dance floor.

“I wondered what I might do at this party,” he said, tracking his eyes from her mouth to meet her gaze. “Good thing you came along when you did. Five more minutes of shop talk and they’d have booted me out.”

She’d liked the timbre of his voice—it had a deep, smoky note to it, the sort of voice you could listen to and never tire of. She wondered what he meant by shop talk, but the band kicked into a rocking version of “You Belong With Me” before she could ask.

“One more?” He wiggled his eyebrows in an appealing invitation.

It was an up-tempo song. She did her best in the stiletto sandals and gown to move in the pattern that she and her girlfriends jokingly called
flash mob debutante
, did her best to be at one with the music and ease into the dance. Another three or four hours and she’d probably be back in the zone, back in the free-spirited dancing she’d loved when she was in college.

He took a couple steps back. Separated from her and unhindered by trying to follow a set pattern or match his steps to hers, he began to move. And oh my, the man could move. She’d never seen anyone dance quite like him—maybe an awkward version of Hugh Jackman, though detractors might not compare him so generously. But the raw power and sheer joy emanating from him as he danced was infectious.

He copied a move of hers and laughed.

She copied him back and to her amazement found that she was laughing too. His movements mesmerized her. She squinted and watched just his form. The fabric and cut of his tux followed the lines of his body as if it had been hand-tailored. Maybe it had been. Surely it had been. She doubted if rental places serviced men that tall and with shoulders that wide. He had the look of someone of privilege, but not the air of one. No, he had an almost heartland charm, and she liked it. There was nothing arrogant in his mannerisms or his speech, just a very real, very beguiling charm.

That charm shouldn’t make her feel wary, but it did.

She glanced over his shoulder and saw her dad standing in the doorway. He shot her an
okay
sign and then put his fingers to his ears, grinned and walked back out. For a man used to the roar of baseball stadiums, a loud band in a room with poor acoustics shouldn’t faze him. But he’d never been a fan of jazz. It was one of her passions he didn’t share.

Fingers touched her arm, and she jumped. Scotty leaned down to her, and his lips brushed her ear.

“Let’s get some air,” he said. He could’ve said
let’s run off into the forest
or something like it for the shiver the touch of his lips sent racing through her.

How many hundreds of these parties had she been to and how many times had she danced with handsome men? But she’d never felt like this. And besides, most of those men far too often had designs on her. They didn’t pursue her because of what she loved or what her dreams were. And they certainly didn’t pursue her because she was a scientist and they had some deep love for her as a professor of cosmology. No, they all knew that hooking her would set them up for life.

But Scotty appeared to be dancing and spending time with her for the sheer joy of it. She couldn’t resist his invitation.

“Food would actually be good,” she replied, even though that wasn’t what he’d suggested. The rigor of dancing had sent the alcohol straight to her head.

He nodded, and she followed him off the dance floor.

He hadn’t offered his arm to escort her. It would’ve felt too familiar, almost awkward, now that they were out of the ritual of the dance. He must’ve known. She liked that—his quick read of the situation too.

Thank you for reading
Love Bats Last
! If you liked the book, I hope you’ll consider posting a review where you purchased it and sharing your thoughts with others.

For a complete listing of books, as well as excerpts, contests, and to connect with Pamela:

www.PamelaAares.com
 

Sign up for Pamela's Newsletter at
http://www.pamelaaares.com/newsletter-signup/

Another winner in Pamela Aares' Heart of the Game series. Get ready to enter the fast-paced world of alpha male, All-Star athletes and the top-of-their-game women they come to love.

Aares deftly weaves together the desires and strategies of world-class sports with the equally charged realm of the heart to create a fast-moving tale you'll wish would never end.

Mary Beath, award-winning author of

Refuge of Whirling Light

And don’t miss…

Other Books by Pamela

http://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Aares/e/B008FW3TJ4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

Book Two in the Heart of the Game series

A kiss in a dark alcove triggers the greatest challenge of their lives...

Ace pitcher Scotty Donovan has been traded from his longtime team—and hates it. But to his surprise, he now finds himself in the sweetest game of his life: winning the heart of smart, sexy physics professor Chloe McNalley.

Chloe loves teaching, but she's never fit into academia. When she falls for Scotty, she discovers his arms and heart are where she belongs. They share a passion for the game, a fascination for the mysteries of the universe and an increasing love for one another.

Then Chloe inherits Scotty's new team. As player and team owner, they shouldn't be dating. They try to hide their passion, until a blackmailer threatens them personally and professionally. Exposure could be the end of everything--Scotty's career, Chloe's team ownership, and their new love—unless they find a way to transcend the taboo standing between them.

Thrown By Love is available online as a print or eBook at all of your favorite booksellers.

Book Three in the Heart of the Game series