“Black and blue?” Nora moaned. “That can’t be.”
He shrugged, then stared at it more closely, probing at the bruise with a gentle touch. “You can put some of that makeup stuff on it, and no one will notice.”
“But—but I can’t have a black eye!”
A sharp laugh slipped from his throat before he could stop it. “Why? Do you have some hot date tonight?” When he saw the flush of embarrassment creep up her cheeks, he cursed himself soundly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she murmured. “It was very rude.”
“I just never think of you…I mean, Prudence…Well, you know what I mean. I never think of Prudence as having much of a social life, beyond quilting bees and pinochle club.”
“I’m not Prudence,” she said in a soft voice, the hurt evident beneath the surface. “And—and maybe I do have a date tonight. Would that be so hard to believe?”
He let his palm rest on her cheek for a moment before he sat back on his heels. “Well, you’re going to have a nice shiner, Nora Pierce, if you don’t put some ice on that eye.” Pete reached out and took her hand, then helped her to her feet. “I’ll get something from the fridge. Why don’t you sit down? And don’t rub it. I’ll be right back.”
Nora nodded and managed a grateful smile, as he strode out of her office. The boys were gathered in a small group, ready to mount a rescue mission. But he waved as he passed, tossing them the ball. “She’s fine,” he said. “Carry on. I’m going to get some ice. I hit her in the eye.”
Fear froze the expressions of his co-workers, and they quickly scattered, heading back to work before they might be implicated in the injury of Prudence Trueheart. Pete grabbed the closest thing he could find to an ice pack from the refrigerator and hurried back to Nora’s office.
He found her leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed and her slender legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles.
“Here,” he murmured, bending over her, bracing his hand on the arm of her chair. “This should help.”
Nora opened her eyes and looked at the small package he offered. “That’s a frozen burrito.”
Pete shrugged. “Someone forgot to fill the ice trays.”
She took the burrito from his hand and carefully placed it over her eye. “Another breach of office etiquette—actually, two. Stolen food and empty ice trays.”
He covered her hand with his and adjusted the burrito over the bruise. An errant strand of hair slipped from the knot at her nape and brushed the back of his hand. He was acutely aware of how soft it felt. It probably smelled good, too. “Yeah, I guess that memo you put up must have fallen off the refrigerator already.”
“You tore it down, didn’t you,” Nora accused.
“Not me,” he lied. “But you have to admit, sometimes you are a little…”
“Pushy?” she asked. “Overbearing?”
“I was going to say ‘prissy,”’ he replied, stepping back before he was tempted to run his fingers through her hair and scatter the pins that held it in place. Actually, he was going to say “autocratic and oppressive.” But the vulnerability he saw in her eyes made him amend his opinion. Suddenly, he much preferred Nora Pierce’s gratitude to her disapproval. “Sports guys don’t like rules. The only thing that should have rules is a game.”
“Civilized society needs proper etiquette,” she countered. “If we have to live together, we have to respect each other. Good etiquette is a measure of that respect.”
“And twenty-seven rules posted on an office refrigerator tend to make us a little crazy.”
She sighed softly, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. “I don’t mean to make you crazy. I was just trying to be…helpful.”
His attention dropped to her mouth again, and he fought the impulse to lean closer and kiss away the traces of hurt he heard in her voice. He’d always assumed she was such a hard and calculating woman, an imperious force with a steel spine and ice water running through her veins. But in truth, Nora Pierce wasn’t at all like Prudence Trueheart. Sure, she was a little uptight and overly concerned with propriety. But beneath the stuffy facade, she was soft and vulnerable and incredibly irresistible.
“Maybe I could take you out to lunch,” he said. “By way of an apology.”
She sat up straight and pulled the burrito from her eye, regarding him with a suspicious expression. “Lunch?”
“Yeah, why not? That’s not against the rules, is it? Or didn’t I ask the right way. Should I have called first? Or maybe written you a note? I suppose I could have sent an engraved invitation, but my engraver is broken.”
Nora shook her head, the barest hint of a smile touching her lips. “I—I don’t think lunch would be such a good idea. After all, we work together. People might talk.”
Though it was a reputation built more on rumor than fact, Pete was known at the Herald as the resident Casanova, a fact that obviously hadn’t escaped Prudence’s notice. He didn’t put much effort into attracting women, but he always seemed to have at least two or three beautiful ladies on a string. Yet, over the past year, he’d found himself increasingly disenchanted with the women he dated—and the reputation he’d cultivated. Unfortunately, the reputation seemed to stick, and his personal life had become tasty fodder for the office gossips.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like women anymore. He still had the occasional date, but maybe he was getting too old for the singles scene. At thirty-three, he wasn’t exactly over the hill, but he’d come to the conclusion that a good relationship wasn’t only about great sex and a centerfold body. He just wasn’t sure what it was about.
Pete sighed. At the moment, he found himself wanting lunch with Nora Pierce, odd as that seemed. “It’s just a simple lunch,” he said with a grin. “What could they possibly say about you and me having a burger together?” Though he meant the question rhetorically, he saw another trace of hurt in her expression, then realized how she’d taken it. Of course, a quiet lunch with Prudence Trueheart couldn’t possibly end in anything other than dessert and separate checks. She had her reputation, too, and it was spotless. But her reaction came out of left field, and he wasn’t sure if he should apologize or rephrase.
“I—I’m not hungry, but thank you, anyway,” Nora replied, her voice suddenly cold and distant. She held out the burrito. “Here, you better put this back in the freezer. I wouldn’t want anyone to miss it.”
Pete slowly shook his head and took the burrito. For a few minutes, he’d thought he’d managed a truce of sorts with Nora Pierce—maybe even the beginning of a friendship. But after sticking his foot in his mouth, not once but twice, he realized that the woman before him would be a tough sell. If discarding his reputation meant losing his touch with women, maybe he’d have to rethink his options.
“Fine,” he murmured. “But if you change your mind, just let me know.” He walked to the door, then turned around to take one last look. She watched him from behind her desk, her blue eyes wide. He should have insisted on lunch, or at least been insulted by her refusal. But something told him not to burn any more bridges with Nora. “I’ll…see you later.”
She nodded curtly, then picked up a file folder from her desk and efficiently spread the contents out in front of her. When she’d managed to ignore him for a full ten seconds, he silently walked out of her office, closing the door behind him.
The teams had reassembled in the Bullpen, and the game had started up again with Sam Kiley’s team at bat. As he walked back to his spot in the infield, he caught a foul ball and threw it to the first baseman.
“So?