Perfect Pitch Read Online Free Page B

just that she filled out the shirt in the most appealing way he’d ever seen. It wasn’t the waterfall of shimmering hair down her back. It wasn’t the gigantic green eyes that looked up at him, tracking his every step as he approached.
    The runner cleared his throat. “Miss Winger? Mr. Thomas will escort you—”
    DJ cut the guy off. “I had you pegged for high heels and one of those skinny little skirts that would make it impossible for you to walk out to the mic.”
    “For a baseball game?”
    He was laughing with her before he even realized he’d moved to her side. The runner glanced back and forth between them, looking like they’d started babbling in some foreign language. DJ ignored the kid as he said to Samantha, “Seriously. Thank you for coming out today.”
    “Seriously. I couldn’t have people thinking the Summer Queen would just curl up and die at a little friendly joshing.”
    He was close enough now that he could smell her hair, or her perfume, or maybe it was just the sweet scent of her skin—like honey, with a hint of something deeper. Something spicier. He couldn’t help himself. He reached out and cupped his fingers around the bend of her elbow. “I know you didn’t have to do this. I appreciate it. Me. Not the Rockets. Not the guys upstairs.”
    It was important that she understand the distinction. Important that he make himself clear.
    Maybe she understood even more than he was saying, because a delicate flush whispered over her cheeks. Her professional smile wobbled just a little at the corners, and she glanced down at her feet. He tightened his grip, not wanting to see her off-balance.  
    Her quick catch of breath brought a wash of heat to his own face, and his cock twitched to attention. His fingers were close enough to her side that he could feel her breathing, and he imagined that her pulse was pounding fast.
    Of course it was. She was about to sing the national anthem on television. And if he did anything to upset her now, he’d be an even greater asshole than the world already thought he was.
    He dropped his hand to his side and squared his shoulders. “Ready?” he asked.
    She swallowed hard and nodded once. “Ready.”
    He offered her his arm. The motion was entirely a reflex, more suitable to a tuxedo and a bow-tie and some fancy party than to a ballpark. But he couldn’t deny the thrill that shot through him as she slipped her arm through his, as she settled her perfect pink-polished fingernails against his wrist.  
    He felt like he was back in high school, escorting his date to senior prom. He felt like he was a knight, guiding a lady to her throne. He felt like he was an international spy, ushering an heiress to the baccarat table.
    Easy, boy , he told himself. Don’t screw this up, or she’ll never forgive you .
    As they stepped into the sunlight, people began to applaud. The crowd didn’t need the announcer to explain who they were, why they were there.  
    Beside him, Samantha beamed, waving with her free hand. She was relaxed and comfortable, full of sunny goodwill. He stood taller in her presence and tried to look contrite. He ordered himself not to look at the dugout, not to see the faces of his teammates who had to be giving him the razzing of a lifetime.
    But he couldn’t keep himself from leaning down as Samantha slipped her arm from his. He couldn’t keep himself from breathing in her honey-and-cinnamon scent. He couldn’t keep himself from brushing a kiss against her lips, the chastest of gestures, the safest of promises.
    And he couldn’t stop his heart from pounding as she smiled at him—one glorious grin before she stepped back, took a breath, and began to sing.
    * * *
    An hour later, Sam was sitting in the owner’s suite, watching the game and trying to figure out exactly what had happened down there, before the game began.
    She’d arrived at the park early, putting into practice the most important lesson she’d learned during her ten months as