Chapter 17

"Have you seen Emma?" Luke's gaze roamed the hall, before turning back to Dexter. Taking the damn group picture had taken longer than expected, and when he'd returned to the spot where he'd last seen Emma, he had found neither her nor Brittany. He wasn't the type to get worried quickly, in fact he rarely ever worried at all, but Emma had been gone for more than twenty minutes now, and she didn't know anyone here.

"You keep losing women, dude. How do you do that?"

"Dex, I'm worried here, could you please stop being an ass for a minute?"

The tall man narrowed his eyes a little, before shrugging his shoulders. "I think I saw her out on the terrace a while ago. That red dress is hard not to notice. Your mock girlfriend is really stunning! So what's going on?"

Luke ran a hand through his hair and exhaled with a hiss. "I hope nothing. It's just … the last time I saw her, she was talking to Brittany."

"Brittany?" his friend repeated, incredulous. "The crazy playmate who stalks you, the incarnation of pure mean girl energy?"

"That's the one," Luke murmured and suddenly felt very stupid. How could he leave her alone? Brittany was the kind of woman you didn't wish on a mother-in-law.

"I'm going to look for her; see you later."

He pushed through the crowd, evading anyone he hadn't greeted tonight, for if he wasn't careful, he'd never get out of the throng.

Even though it was already late May, it was rather cool outside. Hence it wasn't surprising that the terrace was virtually empty, apart from a few bartenders on a smoke break – and one woman in a red dress.

"Hey." He touched her gently on the shoulder, but she flinched anyway. "Oh God, it's you." She exhaled slowly and turned her face away. Had her eyes been wet?

"Where have you been hiding? I've been looking for you."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I was here. I was a little scared of all the people, so I thought I'd feel safer out here."

She still wouldn't look at him, and Luke couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. "Is everything okay?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Because you can't look me in the eye."

She raised her chin, in that stubborn and distinctive manner of hers, and gave him a defiant look.

"Happy now?"

No, he wasn't happy. She didn't look like the Emma he had left half an hour ago. She looked strange, different. Right now, he wouldn't hesitate to eat an entire cake if she offered it to him, and she could gladly turn his pool table into a dressing table, if only she would smile again.

"Has anything happened, Emma?"

He could see her swallow, but she shook her head. "Nothing I didn't already know."

"Emma …"

She sighed and her gaze became distant. "Do you know that I'm actually rather content with myself."

He was confused. "Why shouldn't you be content with yourself?"

She chuckled softly – but it didn't involve her whole body this time. "I didn't even really love him … and yet I let him mess with my head."

Luke had lost the connection here.

"Who are you talking about?" he asked gently. He leaned against the balustrade next to her and studied her profile. She looked thoughtful. She looked a little as if she was carrying the weight of the entire world.

"My ex-fiancé," she finally murmured, and her voice trailed off in the darkness. "I just let him into my head, though he had no business being there."

Luke had to agree with that. He found he really didn't want her ex-fiancé haunting her thoughts.

He trailed his fingers down her arm and noticed the gooseflesh there. He took off his suit coat and put it around her shoulders.

"What did your fiancé do to your head?" he wanted to know as he tried to look her in the eye, but she avoided his gaze.

She seemed to ponder the question for a few moments, before she shook her head. "Nothing. It's all good."

He didn't believe her, but she didn't appear to want to talk about it. She wasn't looking for comfort – but if he couldn't comfort her, at least he could distract her.

"Come on, let's leave," he said on impulse, taking her hand.

She gave him a perplexed look. "Can we do that?"

He chuckled. "Of course we can."

"But where are we going?" she asked, letting him pull her along with him. "Home?"

Home.

It took him a second to process that she was speaking of his apartment. Her home.

He shook his head. "No, we're going somewhere else." He typed a text message to his driver. "You still have to fulfill a promise."

***

"Where are we going?"

"Do you always have to know everything?"

"Well, I wouldn't say everything … but almost everything is pretty close."

Luke snorted, while Emma tried to peek out through the tinted windows. But it was dark, and apart from the street lights that flanked the highway, she couldn't see anything. She sank back into her seat and raised her hands. "Alright, I give up. I'm taking pot luck."

Luke raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief.

She gave him a wide smile.

How did this man always manage to make her smile? It was baffling, considering that only half an hour ago, she had been struggling not to cry.

Once again, she had taken the wrong words to heart. The words of a person whom she shouldn't have given the chance to exert influence on her in any way. She had reverted back to the past, hadn't mustered enough self-confidence to simply ignore the words of that fake blonde. And she hated herself for still being unable to do that. For still feeling insecure.

"Stop thinking! I prefer my women empty and easy."

She couldn't stop herself from laughing at that. "I think you're lying to yourself, Luke," she stated and glanced at him. He was sitting right next to her, though the limousine was probably large enough to seat the entire baseball team.

"I believe that you prefer your women intelligent and challenging, but you're too scared to try taking up with one of those."

He raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?"

"I know you're not stupid," she said plainly. "And only half the idiot you try to make people think you are. I think you'd get bored rather quickly if you stuck with one of your sluts – but that's just my humble opinion."

He snorted. "How come everyone has a degree in psychology lately?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I learned not to sell myself short … maybe you should start doing the same thing."

Luke didn't reply to that, but stared out the window, and Emma wasn't sure if she had angered him.

She cleared her throat. "You … knew a lot of people tonight," she said, fearing that she had gone too far out on a limb.

Luke turned back to her, and she was relieved to see that he didn't look angry. He looked thoughtful. "I did. Know is an interesting word. Not really what friendship means in high society circles."

"So none of them was your friend?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Well, Dex is a good friend. And the other Delphies, too. But the rest of the people tonight? No, I wouldn't call any of those my friend."

Emma frowned. That sounded sad, and she said so.

He laughed. "That's the way things are when you have money, Emma. Everyone likes you, but you can never know whether that's real. Friends aren't always friends."

She looked into his blue eyes as the car stopped. "I like you, Luke," she whispered.

He chuckled. "I like you, too, Emma."

The words shouldn't feel like a warm blanket tucked around her heart – but they did. She cleared her throat and hoped that the darkness within the car was sufficient to hide her pink cheeks. "Well, maybe I could be your friend. A real, platonic girl friend."

"Emma." He gave her a grave look and trailed his fingertips across her thigh. Her skin felt promptly on fire.

"I'm sorry I have to say this, but we can never, let me repeat: never, be platonic friends. Not as long as you … no, never."

And before she could say anything, he had pulled her from the limo with him.

"Where are we?" Emma had put her own coat back on during the ride, though Luke had insisted she could keep his tux coat, he was never cold.

"Does it have to be this dark?"

"It's called night, darling, and if you asked the moon, I'm sure she'd say yes, it must be this dark." He continued walking, holding her hand in his, and a few yards onwards he stopped. "We're there."

Emma furrowed her brow and looked up, noticing the large green exit sign, over which she spied a Delphies sticker. She tilted her head back further and spied the floodlights up there in the dark. Her eyes widened and her mouth became an O, before she shook her head wildly. "No! We cannot break into the stadium!" she hissed and pulled at his hand. "That is against the law."

"Yes, we can. I'm practically the chairman of this structure."

"You're a baseball player, not a chairman!"

"But as a regular, one should have the right to gain access whenever fancy strikes."

She snorted. "No, one should not! Nobody should have that right. They can arrest us for this!"

He rolled his eyes. "I have a key, and if the police really show up, you can always take off your coat, and they will let us go."

He had already pulled the key from a pocket, and no matter how hard Emma tugged at his arm, she didn't possess the strength to deter him from his plan. On the contrary. He pulled her arm into the hallway with him, and she came stumbling after him, refusing to let go.

He seemed to know where he was going, and though Emma had no idea what his plan was, she soon realized that she was standing in a changing room.

"Did you intend to show me the spot where twenty athletic, naked men assemble on a daily basis?" she asked hesitantly.

"Nope." He crossed the room and opened the locker with the number fourteen. Wasn't fourteen also the number on the back of his jersey? She seemed to remember that vaguely.

"But then what do you want?" she whined, risking that she would sound like a little girl.

He grinned mischievously as he pulled a helmet, a bat, and a baseball from the locker.

"I already told you. There's a promise you need to fulfill." He waved the equipment in his hands. "Learning by doing."

She suspected the worst and raised her hands in defense. "I've always been a loser at sports."

He clicked his tongue. "You promised that you would make an effort to understand the game."

"Yeah, I did." She took a step backwards, in the direction of the exit. "But I was talking about theory. I'm really not interested in the practice."

In school she had always been the last person to be chosen for a team. At soccer, she tended to always miss the ball, and if she kicked it, it mysteriously ended up in the net of her own team. Kickball had been another disaster – she knew it was a cliché, but she really threw like a girl.

"The best way to learn something is by trying it for yourself," he intoned in a Dalai-Lama-esque drone that made her groan.

"I'm wearing a dress and high heels."

"No problem; we're going to focus on batting, and leave the running and catching for another time."

That didn't reassure Emma in the least. "Tell you what. You hit and I watch."

He grinned and maneuvered her through the door. "Fat chance. I'm not going to pass this up – although I've asked myself a few times already whether it would be a good idea to hand you a heavy bat."

They walked down a wide corridor, which ended before a second gate, through which cold air crept up at them. Beyond the gate, the lawn of the actual field was barely visible in the gloom. Of course he had a key to this second gate, too, though Emma was rather sure that this wasn't the rule for a baseball player.

The door opened with a gentle creak, and they stepped out on the field.

"It's far too dark out here. We can't play when it's this dark!" she declared avidly and stopped before the green expanse, unmistakably relieved. She gave him a wide smile.

Luke returned the smile. "Just wait a second."

He quietly counted to three, before clapping his hands, and with a heavy tick-tock sound, the floodlights came on, blinding Emma for several moments.

"Ta-daa," he called and spread his arms wide. "Can you hear the crowd cheer? All they want is to see Emma Sander hit a home run!"

Emma scowled at him. "All I can hear is the voices in my head, yelling at me with things like: No! Don't do it, run away! Sports will kill you!"

"You really are a drama queen. Here, put this on your head."

He put the oversized helmet over her head and straightened it. "And now … the bat."

He handed her the piece of wood, and as soon as he let go, her arms unexpectedly gave way.

"That thing is damn heavy!" she complained.

"Heavy and expensive, so don't let go when you swing it."

She rolled her eyes. "You're the one who had better wear a helmet."

He brushed it aside. "Nope. I'm a strong man … Try and adopt a really wide stance … no, not that wide … and now sideways."

She sighed and followed his instructions.

"Yes, exactly like that." He went to stand behind her and put his hands on her hips. "Alright. Turn your side a little more … yes."

She could feel his hot fingers through the fabric of her dress. She swallowed.

"Perfect. Now rest the bat against your right shoulder, elbows a little higher – see, you look like a pro!"

She made a face. "I feel dumb."

"Now you know how I feel every single day of my life," he stated with a grin, coming around to face her again.

"This is the ball," he declared and held out a round, white ball. "All you have to do is hit that. Easy."

She starred at the white thing in his hand and opened her mouth. "But that's a softball!"

He laughed and nodded. "Yep. The real ones are a lot harder, and I don't want you to get hurt."

"That ball cannot hurt an ant. Why do I have to wear a helmet?"

He grinned and slowly moved backwards to the home plate. "Because you look cute with it."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop her heart from skipping a beat. He thought she was cute.

It was pathetic, but she would take anything she could get to pamper her dented self-confidence.

"Alright, then throw me that ball. Mr. Wichtig!" she called out when Luke had stopped about three yards away from her.

"Okay. All you have to do is hit it."

Okay. Swing and hit that damned ball. How hard could it be? Millions of Americans did it, didn't they?

"You're out," Luke called to Emma.

"No, you are out!" she yelled back. "I haven't touched a single ball, so how can I be out already?"

"Precisely because you haven't touched one."

She lowered the bat and shook her head. "That is a stupid rule!" she yelled.

"Even rules with a low IQ are rules you need to follow."

"Says who?"

"The baseball rulebook! You missed the ball three times, even though the ball was good. Three strikes, one out." He indicated the numbers with his fingers.

Emma didn't want to admit it, but she thought she finally understood when someone was out. She wasn't just out though, she was also a pathetic markswoman!

"It's because you throw like a girl!" she accused him, leaning on the bat. "The players on TV never throw any underhand balls."

She could hear him laugh. "Maybe so, but I'm primarily a pitcher, so I wanted–"

She rolled her eyes and cut him off, shouldering the bat again. "Okay, okay, Mr. Pitcher, then why don't you throw me a regular ball!"

She challenged him with a nod – and the ball sailed past her shoulder, before she had even realized that Luke had thrown it.

She blinked and looked over her shoulder. The ball lay ten yards away, by the banks. That was why someone was always squatting behind the guy with the bat. Because people were too lazy to constantly go and fetch the ball back! But Luke was obviously prepared for this, for he pulled a second ball from the pocket of his pants.

"Shall I try again?" he asked innocently.

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. What a blowhard!

"Okay. Throw like a girl again," she finally grumbled. She really didn't want to scramble to fetch the balls.

Luke laughed. "Focus on the ball, and when you think it's time to swing, wait two more tenths of a second."

Smartass. But that was probably normal for an athlete who wanted to teach you something they did for a living.

"Fine." Emma wanted to have a child-sized bat, in case something like that even existed. This one was getting heavier by the minute, and she didn't want to spoil the beautiful dress with sweat stains. "Will you count to three?"

Luke nodded and started counting. When he said three, he threw another underhand ball, and it came at Emma slowly and leisurely. She saw it come closer, wanted to swing, waited a tad longer, and then swung the bat with all her might.

The edge of the bat met the ball, which sailed another two yards or so, before landing on the gravel to Emma's right.

That certainly wasn't part of the actual playing field, but Emma didn't care. She dropped the bat, threw the helmet down on the ground, and jumped in the air.

She had really hit the ball! Emma ‘No Sports' Sander had hit the ball, thrown by a star pitcher, no less! She didn't want to consider any minor details, such as the way he'd thrown the ball.

"I did it," she squealed and hop-danced over to the home plate. "Did you see that?"

But she didn't wait for Luke to answer; instead she flung her arms around his neck. That wasn't something Luke was prepared for, so he lost his balance, stumbled backwards, and barely had time to catch his fall with his arms. Still, he was on his back, and Emma on top of him, her hands now braced on his chest – and still laughing with glee.

"I told you that you should wear the helmet. It's obvious that I'm stronger than you," she grinned, with her hair falling into her face.

He didn't return the grin. His eyes had taken on that serious, grave aspect again. Serious and very, very dark. His hands were on her back, and Emma didn't know what hit her before she was the one on her back on the hard ground – and all that remained between her and the sky was a hard male body. She gasped for air, but not because he was squeezing it from her lungs. He was bracing himself on his forearms, leaving her enough space to breathe. Emma wished he wouldn't do that. Wished he would simply bury her underneath his body.

"Who's stronger now?" he asked, but she read the words from his lips instead of really hearing them.

She bit her own lower lip, and her gaze flickered back to his eyes, which seemed to exude a heat that would have out a microwave to shame.

"The one who doesn't kiss the other one first," she murmured and blinked.

He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and chuckled. "You lost," he murmured and leaned down.

"Thank God," she sighed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips.

He kissed her as if she were already naked. Kissed her with a hunger that made Emma forget that she was lying on a cold, hard lawn in a six hundred dollar dress. But it seemed that Luke had not forgotten it, for he slowly straightened and kneeled, Emma's legs still wrapped around his hips, his lips against her throat. And then finally he got to his feet, as if she were a capuchin monkey clinging to his frame, not a grown woman.

"I think we're done with the baseball lesson for today," he panted. "Let's go."

He kissed the spot behind her ear, then her chin, and then her lips again, and Emma's breath came so heavy it sounded as if she was carrying him.

"And Emma, just so you don't mistake it: That was not an invitation to have sex. That was an order."

Emma gave him a wide grin and gently bit down on his lower lip. "I'm completely at your mercy, Luke Carter."

He let out a loud moan and quickened his pace. "You really shouldn't have said that."