Page 18 of The Billionaire's Catch

Jason grinned. “I’m human.”

Finally, Dara seemed to understand the situation. “You were never hurt?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why you little–”

“Anyone interested in playing a little baseball?” Pat’s sparkling eyes belied his stern expression. “That is, if you don’t mind doing this exchange a little later. When you’re not in front of a rather large audience?”

Dara blinked at the crowd. “Of course. I’ll get off the field now.” She turned and tramped away, not stopping at the dugout, but barreling through the door to the locker room. Was she fleeing the field, the stadium, the country? No doubt she was desperate to get away from him. Did she know her reprieve would only be temporary?

The urge to follow her, to stop her, to capture her rose, and only the fact that 40,000 of his closest friends watched stopped him. It sparked a challenge – and an idea. She wanted to reform his image. What better way than to focus on a single woman?

How about her?

She’d been avoiding him.

Dara would never admit it, not to Pat, certainly not to Jason and barely to herself, but she’d stayed away from the all-too-alluring catcher. His presence did things to her, banishing all common sense to far right field. She hadn’t been able to resist him before, and even less now that he occupied her mind like a catchy song on endless repeat.

Fortunately, her work with the team had been productive. In addition to meeting with the players, she’d scheduled community events that portrayed a wholesome image. Most of the guys were happy to partake in such events.

She didn’t even ask Jason.

But she did see his picture, day after day, on social media. Thankfully, the story of their impromptu on-field embrace had died down, replaced by a viral story about a famous movie star. Since the incident, Dara watched Jason play from the stands and not the dugout. He commanded the diamond with ease, performing almost superhuman acrobatic skills that riveted everyone, even her.

Avoiding him hadn’t been easy. He’d brush by her in the locker room or surreptitiously watch her during team meetings – challenging, contemplating, perhaps planning? She wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever. During the team trip, she’d be trapped in close quarters with him.

Finally, the day of the trip came, and it became apparent just how close she would be. It was a sunny day, warm and beautiful, scented by the blooming gardenias from the bushes that bordered her house. The team was going to be sending a car, so she stood on her front porch, near the small road with mature trees and cobblestone driveways. All was calm and peaceful, until….

A vehicle came rumbling down the street, not a car, but something almost as sleek and rebellious as Jason Sterling. It was pitch black, gleaming in the sun, with a helmeted rider garbed in a form-fitting shirt and jeans. The bike stopped right in front of her house, and the rider stood, lifted the helmet to confirm what she already knew.

She put her hands on her hips. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Jason smiled. “I’m here to pick you up.”

Dara tore her gaze from him to the motorcycle, then back to him. Even on the bike, his size and form were apparent, built by pure muscle. The bike was all smooth lines and powerful potential, perfect for the man who defined power. “What happened to the car?”

“It’s not coming.” He turned the helmet in his hands. “I offered to get you since it was on my way.”

“On your way?” She folded her arms across her chest. “If you take two extra highways and a dozen side streets.”

His slowly spreading grin was as wide as a tiger’s and just as not contrite. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

A shiver stole her words, as he regarded her with a thousand moments of silence. Then he looked behind her, and his expression turned surprised, at the small ranch house. Though he didn’t say anything. Dara suddenly felt the need to explain. “I know it’s not what you’d expect from Pat Everett’s niece, but I like to make my own way.”

“That’s commendable.” Jason inclined his head. He lived in a ten thousand square foot mansion, complete with a tennis court and bowling alley. Uncle Pat lived in something even larger. No doubt he expected Pat’s heir to live similarly.

She should’ve left it at that, but for some reason continued, “I lived with Uncle Pat and Aunt Mary when I was a child, so he’s more like a father than an uncle. He’s used to running things, and if I gave him half a chance, he’d dictate where I lived, who I dated and so forth. He’s a great guy and has my best interests at heart, but I want to live my own life.”

“Has he picked out a guy for you?”

“Of course not.” Dara blushed. “After many attempts, Uncle Pat has given up on matching me.”

Jason looked at her speculatively, and self-consciousness skittered across her skin. She cleared her throat and gestured to the bike. “Anyway, I can’t ride that.”

“Why not?” The shining onyx finish on the massive Harley-Davidson gleamed in the late afternoon sun, beautiful, alluring, tempting. “Your luggage is already at the airport with the team equipment, and I can attach your bag to the bike. All you have to do is hold on.”

“To what?”

He smiled. Widely. “Me.”

That sounded intriguing, which made it all the more impossible. She lifted her chin. “Are you trying to intimidate me, Mr. Sterling?”

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