The Real Deal Page 5

  “You mean like those flavored ones? Apple or whatever?”

  “Yeah, like that.”

  He frowned. “Those are sissy drinks.”

  “Well, excuse me. I was planning on trying one of those.”

  “You’re a girl. The term ‘sissy’ doesn’t apply.”

  “A girl?” Her eyebrows went up.

  “Scratch that. A woman.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. They were a pale pink and slightly shiny. She’d done something with her eyes, too. But not too much. Good. He hated when women wore too much makeup.

  “Do you mind?” She indicated the bowl of nuts.

  “No, here.” He slid the bowl toward her and signaled for Sabrina.

  “Thanks. I skipped dinner, and I’m starving.”

  “Oh, man, I didn’t think—We could go to a restaurant. There are plenty around here.”

  She waved off the offer and popped a cashew into her mouth. “This is perfect,” she said, and the tip of her tongue darted out to lick the salt from the corner of her mouth.

  To his amazement, his body reacted to the simple gesture, and he shifted in his seat. Sabrina showed up just in time to take Emily’s order, which took a couple of minutes because Emily had half a dozen questions about the different flavors the bar offered and how the drinks were made.

  She was inquisitive, all right, which amused him and seemed to annoy the waitress. But he liked that he was free to look at her while she was too busy to notice his interest. She talked with her hands and her face was quick to light up when she discovered an answer to her question. And he was right about her not wearing a bra. A lot of women couldn’t get away with it, at least not attractively with that close-fitting sweater. But her breasts were small and perky enough that her nipples stood firm and high, poking at the cashmere and making his mouth water.

  Sabrina moved off toward the bar, and as he stared suddenly into Emily’s big brown, puppy-dog eyes, he found he had to once again shift positions to loosen his fly or risk injury.

  “I had no idea there were that many flavors of vodka and tequila,” she said, solemnly shaking her head. “That could be real trouble.”

  “Why? You plan on trying them all?”

  Her smile was instant and disarming. The dimples sucker punched him every time. “Well, I am here for a week.”

  “You plow through that much booze and you won’t do much sightseeing.”

  “That’s probably true.” She tilted her head to the side, and he knew from watching her that meant a question was coming. “Why did you return the book? Or for that matter, ask me for a drink?”

  He sighed. “I thought we got past that.”

  “No, seriously this time. I’m just curious.”

  “You seem to be curious about a lot of things.”

  “Insatiably and irrevocably.”

  Oh, hell. He should’ve known she was one of those types that used fancy words. Yeah, of course, she was some kind of editor. Him, he’d dropped out of college his first semester.

  When he saw that she was waiting for an answer, he shrugged. “I was trying to be nice. I’d just finished dinner, and frankly, I had nothing else to do.”

  She picked out another cashew and bit it in half. “Okay, that sounds reasonably honest,” she said, chewing thoughtfully, and then giving a small shake of her head. “Though, hard to believe that a guy like you ever has nothing to do.”

  “Meaning?”

  “That you could have a date every night if you wanted.”

  He supposed he should be flattered, but what struck him was that she apparently didn’t believe he’d returned the book on a whim. “I probably could. If that’s what I wanted.”

  She blinked and watched him take a sip of beer. He’d surprised her. Good. Maybe she’d stop with the questions.

  She dusted her hands together, and then pushed the bowl back toward him. “Mind if I ask what you do?”

  Hell. He should’ve expected that one.

  “Here’s your martini.” The waitress showed up just in time to prevent him from answering. She placed a gold coaster on the black marble tabletop in front of Emily before setting down a fancy-looking drink. Glancing at Nick, Sabrina asked, “Anything else?”

  He still had half a beer left. “That’s it for now. Oh, do you serve food here?”

  Sabrina shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. I can handle my liquor, even on an empty stomach,” Emily said as soon as Sabrina left. “Especially a sissy drink like this.” She picked up the martini and took a sip. “Oh, my God, this is major yummy.”

  “What is it?”

  “A peaches-and-cream martini.”

  He faked a shudder.

  “Stop.” She held up the drink. “You should try it.”

  Reluctantly, he gave in and brought the glass to his mouth. “Tastes more like strawberries.”

  “Strawberries? No, it’s—oh.” She vaguely gestured toward the glass, looking flustered. “That’s the flavor of my lip gloss. You must’ve drank from my side.”

  “Ah.” He took another sip, deliberately zeroing in on the faint print of her lips on the glass. “I like it.” He fixed his gaze on her mouth. “Maybe I should try the real thing.”

  She blinked and moistened her lips. “Maybe.”

  “Excuse me, Nicky.” Sabrina bent at the waist and whispered, “I could get you something from room service. Being as it’s for you, I know the manager won’t care.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emily’s head jerk. The waitress hadn’t said anything too revealing, but he had a sinking feeling the jig was up.

  5

  EMILY’S HEART SANK. He’d lied. Nick had claimed he’d never been to the Thornton before, but he seemed to be pretty chummy with the waitress, and the manager obviously knew him well enough to bend the rules. There was only one reason she could think of why he hadn’t told her the truth.

  “Emily? How about it? Would you like to see a room service menu?” he asked, looking guilty as hell.

  “No, thanks.” She grabbed her drink and took a big gulp, wishing the waitress would leave. As soon as she did, Emily would make an excuse about being tired. She’d thank him for the drink and…no, no, she’d offered to buy him a drink in appreciation for returning her book.

  Right. How was that for irony? She’d bet anything she hadn’t dropped it at all. He’d probably lifted the book from her bag for an excuse to show up at her hotel room. The fool assumed she had money because she was staying at a pricey hotel.

  God, she was the fool. How could she have been so naive? Especially since she edited suspense novels all the time. The poor unsuspecting woman, alone in a strange city, befriended by the suave, handsome stranger—a classic scenario. She obviously wasn’t his type, nor did he seem to be the kind of man content to kill an evening talking to a tourist. The only thing a stunner like him wanted from someone like her was money. Sex, for him, would be a bonus, but not necessary. No wonder he’d preferred staying in her room over coming to the bar. He probably did his best work behind closed doors.

  Watching the waitress stop at another table, Emily silently cursed her own stupidity. She should’ve asked for the check while the woman was here. She only needed to sign it to her room and she could be out of here in seconds. He wouldn’t follow. Surely, he’d realize it was time to cut his losses.

  “Emily, what’s wrong?” Nick reached across the table for her hand, his gaze narrowed on her.

  She dodged him, keeping both hands firmly wrapped around the stem of her glass. “I’m tired. Jet lag, I guess.” Her stomach betrayed her by punctuating the last word with a loud growl.

  The corners of his mouth quirked up slightly, and he leaned back. “I bet you’d feel better if you ate something. Maybe even get a second wind.”

  “I don’t think so.” Her stomach felt a bit off. She’d been famished earlier, and the nuts had been perfect to take the edge off her hunger without spilling something on her new swe
ater.

  Oh, damn, her brand-new expensive cashmere sweater. She couldn’t believe she’d wasted it on him.

  He studied her for a moment, as if calculating his next move, and then said, “I understand if you want to call it a night. But I’m free tomorrow morning if you’d like company while you do some sightseeing.”

  “Um.” She noisily cleared her throat, searching for the right words to say and not cause a scene. No, he was too smooth to call attention to himself. “Sure. Why don’t you give me your phone number, and I’ll call you when I get up?”

  “Okay,” he said slowly, watching her with troubled eyes. “Or we can set a time now and I can come pick you up.”

  “No,” she said too curtly. “I mean, you might change your mind, or I might sleep in too late.” She broke eye contact because she didn’t like the way his gaze seemed to bore into her. “I should’ve asked for the check while the waitress was here,” she said, watching the tall blonde chat with the couple a few tables over. “When she looks this way again, I’d appreciate if you’d motion her over.”

  “What?” He seemed genuinely startled, his eyebrows lifting before they drew together in an annoyed frown. “I don’t get what’s suddenly made you so skittish.”

  “Really? Skittish?” She gave him an eye-roll to show he didn’t rattle her one bit. “I’m not skittish. Simply not interested.” She should call his bluff. Stick him with the bill. That would probably be something new for him.

  “You deny you’ve just gone from hot to cold in a matter of seconds?”

  “Hot? Don’t flatter yourself. Lukewarm, maybe.” She sighed. No sense taking shots just because she’d allowed herself to be gullible. “I’m sure you’re very good at what you do and make a great living at it.” She pushed back from the table. “Believe me when I tell you I’m doing you a favor. You’re wasting your time on me. You can even buy my drink. Consider it the cost of doing business.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Look, I know what you do. I’m not judging. Okay, maybe a little, but I’m not about to preach to you because I doubt it would do any good. And besides—” She stood. “You’re not even from Pilner, Illinois, are you?” she said, feeling absurdly betrayed over something so minor.

  He stared at her for what seemed like a full minute and then shook his head. “Jet lag, hell. I think you’ve been off your meds too long,” he muttered, and jammed a hand in his pants’ pocket.

  “What did you say?” Perfect chance to leave, especially since people were beginning to look their way, but no, she had to get a last word in. Off her meds. He had some nerve.

  “Go ahead,” he said gruffly. “I’ll take care of the tab.”

  “I bet you will.” Emily stepped around her chair and shoved it back in, tempted to scream when he had the audacity to glance at her chest. She changed her mind. She hated the sweater. You couldn’t even wear a bra with the stupid thing. “You rotten hustler.”

  His gaze shot to her face. “What did you call me?”

  “Nicky? Nicky Corrigan?” It was the older man from the next table. “I didn’t know you were here. Hell of a job you did during the Series. Man, you deserved that win.”

  Corrigan. She knew that name.

  Several other people sitting at tables turned to stare and the three guys at the bar swiveled around in their seats. “You made us proud, Nicky,” one of them yelled, giving him a thumbs-up. “Go Knights.”

  His friend on the right slid off the stool. “I gotta get an autograph from you, or my brothers won’t believe me.”

  Emily held on to the back of the chair. The Knights? She knew who he was now. Nick Corrigan was a pitcher. A very famous pitcher. She’d never been into sports, and she’d been accused many times of living in a bubble, but the World Series had been more volatile and exciting last month than it had been in years and, if she understood correctly, mainly thanks to this man.

  The waitress hurried toward the table. “I didn’t say a word to anyone, Nicky. I swear.”

  He looked mad, until he gave the waitress a quick reassuring smile. “No problem, Sabrina, I know.” When his gaze went back to Emily, his irritation surfaced again.

  She burst out laughing.

  They both looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, and then Sabrina quickly slipped away.

  “What the hell is so funny?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

  “You’re a baseball player.”

  “And that’s funny?”

  “Well, yeah, considering what I thought you were.”

  “What? A serial killer?”

  “Close. A serial dater.”

  He stopped glaring long enough to shift a glance toward the bar. “Would you mind sitting down for a minute?”

  She hadn’t realized how many people were staring, or that two men had approached and stood a short distance away with pens and cocktail napkins in their hands. Without arguing, she pulled the chair out again and sat quietly. She wanted Nick to give them their autographs so they’d go away.

  “Thank you,” he said gruffly, and then with a neutral expression, motioned the men over.

  They gave him the pens and napkins and names for the autographs, and then showered him with congratulations for his winning season while he scrawled dedications and his signature. Emily kept her hands folded and smiled when the men sized her up and wished with all her heart she’d worn a bra and a different top.

  The pair of fans hadn’t left yet when three more people appeared requesting autographs. Nick remained gracious and accommodating, even briefly sending her an apologetic smile as he signed his name over and over again.

  She didn’t mind waiting. It was interesting to watch him interact with people. He was patient and affable, even with the couple who wanted autographs for all seven of their nephews, although Emily knew he had to hate the intrusiveness of fans coming at him from all sides. No wonder he’d asked that they stay in her room, it was to avoid the public. A way different scenario than she’d painted in her head, she thought wryly.

  It must be horrible to be such a public figure. She was self-conscious and no one was even looking at her. But Nick seemed to handle the awkwardness with aplomb. She’d never been in the company of anyone famous. Never wanted fame for herself. She prized her privacy.

  When the last of the fans left, Nick drained the rest of his beer, and then took out a wad of bills held together by a gold money clip. “Sorry about all that,” he said. “And thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “Sticking around and not causing a scene.”

  “No problem. After all, I’m partially to blame for calling attention to you.”

  “True,” he said, with a dry look. “What did you call me earlier? A hustler?”

  She nodded, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish. Still, how was she supposed to have known who he was? She was pretty sure he’d never mentioned his last name.

  Nick grimaced. “Where did that come from?”

  “Think about it.”

  “I really don’t know. That’s a new one. I can honestly say that I’ve never before been called a hustler.”

  “Please. It’s so obvious. A good-looking guy like you shows up at the door to supposedly return an easily replaceable book that was hardly worth giving up a cab for, especially in the rain. Add in a lonely, potentially wealthy woman…”

  He snorted and tucked some large bills under his empty glass. “That’s quite an imagination you have. You should be writing, not editing. Besides, if you recall, I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

  “Yes, you have,” she said, her mind going in a new direction. “So why not admit who you were in the cab or in my room?”

  “I didn’t see the point. Would it have mattered to you?”

  “Well, no. I mean, yes. Better to know you were a baseball player than think you were a con man trying to take advantage of me.”

  Nick chuckled, studying her, as if he weren’t quite sure what to make of her. �
�Had I known you had such a suspicious mind, I certainly would have set the record straight right away. Shall we get out of here?”

  “By all means.” She still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t been having a bit of fun with her. She hated that her palms had grown clammy and her heartbeat had quickened. In a few minutes, she’d be alone in her room, with oodles of time to replay the last hour and a half of her life. Pretty sad that this was the most exciting thing to happen to her in a year. Maybe ever.

  Emily pushed back from the table, at the same time furtively checking her watch. She could still call Marnie. Then again, maybe she should wait. Savor the evening. Wait until Marnie called and then nonchalantly bring up her “date” with Nick Corrigan.

  He motioned to the waitress that he’d left some money, and then quickly moved around the table to take Emily’s elbow. Startled, she let him guide her toward the door. She knew they were about to part ways, her to the elevator and him across the lobby toward the street, but she figured she made a great buffer. Either people wouldn’t immediately recognize him with her, or they’d have some manners and not interrupt what they mistook for a date.

  But she really hoped no one approached them because it would be awkward for her to just stand there while he signed more autographs. But, of course, she wouldn’t do that. No use hanging around. She’d find the perfect time to gesture to him with a nod, and then slip back into oblivion.

  They made it to the lobby, past the small crowd converging on the concierge’s desk. Emily tried not to make eye contact with anyone, but it was impossible not to notice the avid interest of the two young women behind the front desk.

  At the increased pressure on her elbow, she glanced at Nick and saw that he wanted her to stop. A large fan palm partially shielded them from the rest of the lobby.

  He moved so that he was facing her and nearly made her heart stop when he brushed the back of his finger down her cheek. “Did I say I was sorry for all the commotion back there?”