His dark gaze sparked. ‘He got that right.’
The low rumble stroked over her skin, and Nina fought not to shiver. The goosebumps popping up on her skin had nothing to do with a chill. She watched as Morgan folded his arms on a metal bar of the batting cage and leaned in to watch the superstar take more warm-up cuts.
‘Are you having a good time, Detective?’
He clicked his tongue.
‘Josh,’ she quickly amended.
She was rewarded with a quick grin, one of those rare flashes that made her knees nearly buckle. She wrapped her hands more securely around the metal bar and focused on the instructions the batting coach was calling to the next player who stepped up to the plate.
She was supposed to call him Josh tonight. It was one of a handful of stipulations he’d put on accepting her gift of tickets to the game. She was to call him Josh – no mention of his job title allowed; she was to let him drive her to the game – no security detail permitted; and she was to escort him to the game.
Escort.
Between his choice of words and his list of conditions, she’d spent the last two weeks worrying that he knew more of her secrets than he should.
More, certainly, than was safe …
Still leaning against the cage, he turned to face her. His dark gaze was too observant as it swept over her whitened grip. ‘It’s been fascinating so far.’
Which was the last thing she wanted. Engaging his curious mind was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
She carefully unclenched her fingers and slipped her hands into the pockets of her Nationals jacket. ‘I think it’s time we found our seats.’
The opposing team had already left the field, and the grounds crew was gathering around home plate, getting ready to clear out the pre-game equipment and put fresh chalk down on the base lines.
‘Lead the way. I’ll follow.’
That’s what she was worried about.
They headed off the field and worked their way up into the stands. With every step, Nina was aware of the man at her side, and it wasn’t just his size. There was an intensity about him, an alertness. He saw too much, he liked to push and he didn’t give up. Those had been good qualities when she’d needed his help for her assistant Rielle. Now they were dangerous to her, her company and her people.
‘Ms Lockwood.’ A silver-haired man nodded politely as they crossed paths in the aisle.
‘Mr Bayles,’ she replied to the banker with just as much graciousness.
She stiffened when she felt the detective’s hand settle against her waist. Oh, no. She hadn’t just given away Luxxor’s accounting –
‘Careful,’ he said as he pulled her out of the way of a peanut salesman.
Her breath caught when her body pressed solidly against the detective’s larger, harder form, but he still had to catch the corner of the vendor’s tray before it hit her.
‘Oh, sorry, man,’ the freckled peanut guy said, but then his gaze lifted to her face and his fair skin flushed. He adjusted the harness over his shoulders as he gaped at her. ‘Ma’am.’
The detective ushered her around the poor seller as his ears turned red. ‘Don’t worry, she has that effect on most men.’
Nina’s head whipped around.
The detective simply lifted an eyebrow. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t know you too.’
She began to protest, but just then she heard her name coming from the next section.
‘Nina, darling.’
It was the choreographer from the Washington Ballet, another frequent client. She forced a smile and waved.
‘Finally, a woman,’ her date mused.
Oh, no. She wasn’t going to let him chew on that bone.
Without thinking, she caught his hand and led him down the steps. Their seats were only feet from the cursive W chalked into the grass behind home plate. The section gave a prime view of not only the game but DC’s relatively new ballpark. The LED scoreboard looked crystal sharp in right-centre, and from the upper deck the Capitol should be visible in left. They’d already indulged in a few of the perks that came with the Presidential Club seats. The all-access pass had gotten them onto the field for pre-game activities and unlimited food and drink in the indoor lounge. Of course, with all the gourmet food around, Morgan had insisted they have hot dogs and beer – which, admittedly, had been delicious.
Nine innings. She just needed to get through nine innings with him.
He followed her into their row, but, when they took their seats, Nina was flummoxed to find him still holding her hand.
He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. ‘You’ve got a lot of friends.’
‘They’re not my friends.’
His eyebrows rose, and she flinched. It had just slipped out. None of the people she’d run into tonight were clients she actually liked, except Andre.
‘Who is?’ the detective asked, his question low amongst the rustling of the crowd.
She went still. He’d taken the conversation in a direction she hadn’t anticipated.
‘Who do you trust, Nina?’
‘Rielle, Sienna and a few others.’
She was aware that her friends were also her employees. She was a social butterfly who only let a small number of people close. Not many people saw that, though. It unsettled her that he had.
But it didn’t surprise her.
‘So there’s room for one more,’ he said as he settled their joined hands on his thigh.
That did.
She looked at him, wide-eyed, unable to help herself.
The announcer called for the national anthem. Morgan stood, tugging her up with him. Nina rose too, but pulled her hand away from his warm grip. She put it over her heart to keep it from hopping outside her ribcage.
Her friend?
Her thoughts whirled as the organist played. They weren’t even close to being friends. They were adversaries, at best. Adversaries conducting a momentary truce.
Although he had come to her rescue when she’d needed help for Rielle … And she’d repaid him with tickets to this game – the highest priced seats in the stadium – because she’d wanted to thank him.
No, friends they were not. She doubted they could ever be. There was too much standing between them, not to mention the … spark. She didn’t know what else to call it. Whenever they got close, she felt the energy running along the edges of her skin like static electricity.
No, she didn’t want him as a friend.
When they sat back down, she busied herself opening her programme and digging in her purse for a pen. Morgan made himself comfortable beside her. The seats behind home plate were wider and cushier than those throughout the rest of the stadium, and the size was needed to accommodate his tall form. It didn’t stop his knee from brushing against hers.
She crossed her legs, and her Prada sneaker bounced up and down as she waited for the first batter to step up to the plate. The shoes weren’t her customary heels, but they had a blue hibiscus print that was fun enough to make her give up the extra inches. Right now, though, she wished for that extra boost of power. She cast a quick glance at Morgan, but he was focused on the game too.
It let her relax.
She began tracking the game in the blank scorecard in the programme, writing