In some part of her mind, she recognized that he found his release, as well. He throbbed inside of her, his shout echoing hers. Delaney couldn’t remember any moment in her life ever feeling this perfect. As they rolled to lie on their sides on the sofa, their hearts pressed so close together that the beats seemed to fall into synch.
Right then, she couldn’t work up the least bit of regret about their night together. Frankly, she couldn’t imagine any consequence that would make her think this time with Rick hadn’t been worth it.
Still, if he got traded tomorrow because of her—because she’d put a good, upstanding man in a compromising position—she didn’t know how she would handle it. She’d never anticipated that living life to the fullest would mean the heartache would be every bit as potent as the pleasure.
Unwilling to let those thoughts overshadow this one night, Delaney released her hold on Rick enough to plant a kiss on his chest. And then another, lower down.
If she was going to go through life with this night imprinted on her memory, she planned to make sure he couldn’t forget her, either.
3
FLASHBULBS POPPED in Rick’s eyes as he adjusted the microphone at a podium in a midtown Atlanta hotel.
Eager journalists raised their hands all over the ballroom while others shouted out questions at the hastily assembled press conference.
“Rick,” one of the loudest voices called, “you’ve got to admit the woman in this photo bears a strong resemblance to owner Dan Blair’s daughter—”
“I’ve got no comment on that,” Rick repeated for the second time, shutting down the question posed by the Rebels’ beat writer for the ATLANTA CONSTITUTION JOURNAL.
Rick had called a press conference first thing to respond to the photos that had appeared on a celebrity magazine’s Web site and then innumerable fan blogs.
While the traditional media hadn’t run the pictures that hardly counted as “sports news,” reporters from those same media outlets had phoned the Rebels’ front office for comments on the photos.
Rick had barely left Delaney’s side that morning when he’d started getting calls from his agent, his manager and even a couple of teammates who said they were only looking out for him. Rick had given himself just enough time to run home, shower and change before meeting with an independent publicist. He didn’t have his own media person and he sure as hell wasn’t going through the team publicity guy, so it had seemed the best course.
He’d avoided the media for most of his career, and look how far it had gotten him. While he never would have been the kind of guy to kiss and tell after a night with a woman, the photos told their story whether he wanted them to or not. And since that was the case, he would put himself in the media spotlight this once to deflect attention from Delaney and keep the focus on him.
“You expect us to believe that anyone but a Rebels insider would have access to the locker room on a game day?” a skeptic piped up from the middle of the pack, her tone both condescending and chiding.
“Hey, one of you guys managed to worm your way into the locker room on a game day,” he pointed out, pausing for a sip of water from the bottle under the podium. “It’s not exactly Fort Knox over there.”
That brought a few chuckles of appreciation from the crowd. Clearly the press corps was well aware of how low some of its more smarmy members would stoop.
“Have you been summoned to the front office yet, Rick?” someone else called out, and he recognized one of the staffers for a big sports radio affiliate.
No doubt those guys would have a field day with this story. Sex and scandal sold papers and increased audiences better than home runs. It was one of the reasons Rick wasn’t exactly a household name despite ten seasons of solid defense, consistent RBIs and not a single appearance on the disabled list.
“No.” Rick wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable talk with management given how much he wanted to remain in Atlanta. The Rebels finally had a shot at the series this year, and if not this year, they’d be there next year for sure. The last thing he wanted was to be traded off a team that might finally make it to the big dance. “And you know as well I do that this unfortunate invasion of my privacy is my personal affair and not team business, so I don’t anticipate having to defend myself to the team.”
He signaled to the P.R. consultant that he was done and pushed back from the podium, confident he’d done what he could to steer interest toward his career. He’d downloaded his stats from the Rebels’ Web site and had them passed out as people came in to remind the reporters he was all about baseball.
Although, truth be told, he’d never realized how unbalanced that might have made his life until Delaney strode onto the scene.
“Rick,” another voice called after him before he left the small stage. “Can you at least tell us if you’ve ever met Delaney Blair?”
The crowd quieted as they’d all heard the query, too—and were every bit as eager to know the answer.
Never had it grated more to know he could generate ten times the interest in his career by selling out his personal life. Guys did it all the time by dating high-profile women. And while Delaney wasn’t a movie star or a pop singer, she was a member of a family that was practically baseball royalty. The Rebels had been family owned since the franchise’s beginning, carefully preserving their status as majority shareholders even after the team went public.
“The Blairs are an Atlanta institution because they make it a point to personally greet every new player to the organization.” He glared at the throng of reporters scribbling furiously, his gaze skipping over the cameras recording his every word to focus on the faces. “They have my utmost respect.”
The partitioned ballroom erupted with more questions, but Rick walked off the stage and through a side exit into a food prep area. Even the busboys were lined up to watch the press conference, their water pitchers and cleaning rags idle in their hands as Rick plowed past them into the bowels of the hotel’s kitchen.
He didn’t need to stay for the rest of the event. He was footing the bill after all, and he’d had his say. But as his cell phone chimed in his jeans pocket, he acknowledged that a lot of other folks would feel like they hadn’t gotten theirs.
Checking the caller ID only out of morbid curiosity, Rick saw a set of digits he couldn’t ignore. “Blair, Daniel” wouldn’t make a call from a personal line just to shoot the breeze.
Rick might fool a few people by hedging around the identity of the woman in the photograph with him, but he damn well wouldn’t fool her old man.
Knowing the time had come to face the consequences of his actions, Rick answered the call to find out just how badly he’d screwed up his career. He didn’t want to leave Atlanta, but he’d be damned if he would compromise the team or Delaney by staying in a situation that would only hurt them all in the end.
“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS.”
Delaney paced the floor in her father’s luxurious home office at the family compound in Buckhead. She’d been summoned in no uncertain terms just past dawn, when her ringing cell phone both awakened her and alerted her to Rick’s departure sometime while she’d been sleeping.
His silent exit had stung, leaving her unsure of all the feelings he’d stirred the night before.
“I assure you, Laney Lou,” her father used the old family nickname for her. He picked up a silver-framed photo of her as a baby and stared at it as if he was talking to the round-faced infant instead of his grown daughter. “I am most definitely serious about wanting your young man to do right by you.”