In turn, she asked him about baseball, and he lit up with the same boyish enthusiasm conveyed in every interview she ever saw him give. It was a fascinating transition, and Amanda caught herself smiling when he did it. It was clear he was passionate about his sport. But other than that, he appeared to be way more interested in learning about her.

“You really are big enough to play football,” she said, trying to even out the exchange of information.

“I did play in high school,” he confirmed, “mostly because my dad said if I wasn’t doing something productive with my time off, he would put me to work on the farm. He was a big believer that kids with too much free time often found trouble.”

“He sounds like he was a smart man,” Amanda said, suddenly remembering footage she had seen. A snippet, the image of a stoic, glassy-eyed Chase walking his unsteady and red-eyed mother briskly to a car outside a church, flashed across her mind, reminding her that even in grief, he was denied privacy. “I’m sorry you lost him so young.”

“Thank you,” Chase replied soberly. “He was a smart man. When I was offered scholarships for both, he was the person to suggest I stick with baseball, because it would be easier on my body, not to mention my mother. I don’t think he ever gave me a piece of bad advice. And I’m comforted by the fact he died exactly the way he wanted to. Quick.”

Amanda nodded; there really was nothing to say. But she was sad for him, too, even if he was little more than a stranger whom she had to fight off to keep that way.

“He’d be real disappointed in me if he knew I spent the rest of my life mourning him. He wanted me to do great things,” Chase said by way of closing the subject. He didn’t want to see pity in her eyes; he much preferred her feisty. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and took a hearty swig of champagne before standing up and holding out his hand.

“Dance with me.” It sounded more like a command than a request.

She stared at him blankly before looking out into the restaurant. Several tables had been pushed to the sides, creating a space in the middle of the room. Had they been moved before she got there and she just didn’t notice? Earth, Wind & Fire was still playing, rich and soulful. Eric was still behind the bar. minding his own business and working on what Amanda was sure was a crossword puzzle. She took Chase’s hand and he led her to the impromptu dance floor and pulled her in close. Although it required a reach on her part, one of her hands rested on his shoulder. Her other hand, secure in his, was placed directly over his heart. Together they began to sway to the music.

Finally he had her in his arms, which was right where she belonged.

“We fit together well,” he whispered in her ear, and the pressure of his fingertips on the small of her back increased. “Don’t you think?”

It was likely her neck would need a chiropractor if she spent too much time looking up at his face. But staring at his chest had its benefits. Despite his size, he was light on his feet. She resisted the urge to melt into him and he dipped them a little.

“You are just full of surprises, Mr. Walker, right down to your choice of music. Isn’t your theme music the chorus from ‘Head Like a Hole’ by Nine Inch Nails?”

He chuckled. “I have my aggressive head-banging moments, but they don’t make for good romance.”

“And once again, I need to remind you, romance with you is not part of my equation,” she reiterated, hoping she sounded convincing. It felt good, huddled up against him, so good.

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious to see what a guy like me has to offer?”

“I already know what you have to offer, being on the road for half the year with the added bonus of women throwing themselves at you.” The argument was as weak as the accusation.

“I never took you for a gal who reads the National Enquirer,” he mused, foiling her again.

“I don’t need a tabloid to get a good read on you,” she said, wondering if every woman who danced with him wound up feeling like putty.

“You’re not going to be one of those people to whom I’m going to have to say ‘Having my picture taken at a party with Kate Upton doesn’t mean I slept with her,’ are you?” He didn’t ask it as if he thought he needed to try to change her mind. He had an air about him as if he already knew she was going to become what he probably referred to as “a done deal.”

“I can’t get wrapped up in a guy like you,” she said, mostly to herself to fight it off, although he clearly heard her.

“Why not?” he queried.

“Because you’re so very nice and way too complicated,” she was able to say automatically, since it had become one of her mantras.

“And you’re way too pragmatic. I’m the simplest guy there is. I remember everything my parents taught me. Do the right thing and everything turns out right. Stay loyal to those you want loyalty from. I have almost everything a man could want; I’m a complete tool if I don’t appreciate it.”

“See? Now that’s the kind of stuff I’m talking about. You sound too good to be true. And why are you even interested in someone like me? You’re supposed to be hooked up with some Southern belle who’s got a waistline the size of my pinky. Sports Illustrated will take pictures of you both in your bathing suits, you holding her over your head.”

“What’s so difficult to believe? You’re a natural beauty who’s smart and witty, even when trying to keep your defenses up. You would never be so impolite to me if you weren’t attracted. I watch you with other people. You have perfect decorum even with total asshats.”

And then Chase smiled, still sweet but with the tiniest touch of sinister.

“But you try to tell me, usually in the freshest way, my own mind. I think I know why you’re doing it, too, but we can talk about that later,” he said, his hand curling tighter around her waist. “And don’t be so foolish to think I’m not strong enough to hold you over my head. The only question would be for how long. You’re no Kelly Ripa.”

Amanda laughed. He wasn’t insulting her. It wasn’t a backhanded compliment, either. The way he said it was more in appreciation. It wasn’t like he compared her to his ex-girlfriend, who had a celebrated figure and her size 8 earned her the Hollywood assessment of obese. Besides, Amanda was comfortable in her double-digit size. The extra weight made her feel strong and powerful, a force to be reckoned with and not a pushover. Of course, next to him, it was hard not to feel like a dwarf; he was just too intimidating.

He finished up with, “As for me, I’ve been totally blessed. The least I can do is not be a jerk about it.”

How was she supposed to come up with an answer to that? He took every argument she had and charmingly shut it down. There was no denying that from the second she met him, Chase was polite and chivalrous and way too accommodating. And it wasn’t an act, but who he naturally was. He was warm and approachable, and it was clear people mattered to him. But she also knew that he was rich and powerful and accustomed to getting what he wanted. It was also clear that apparently what he wanted at the moment was her, for whatever reason. The only thing she could do was continue to keep him at arm’s length physically and hope that he would lose interest because it was too much effort, and then they could both go back to the very different lives they knew.

Neither of them said anything more and continued to move to the music. Earth, Wind & Fire switched to “Reasons.” It was one of the most random and romantic songs in her own repertoire, handed down from when all her musical influence was reflective of her parents. From when as a tween in her bedroom she used to dance with her pillow and dreamed of being a princess, not a contender. It was only after she felt his fingertips curl in on her back that she realized she had rested her head on his shoulder, well mostly his chest, and closed her eyes. She could’ve easily stepped on his feet and let him do all the dancing, but they weren’t doing too much moving anyway.

They continued to slightly sway, even after the music stopped until Amanda realized it. She had gotten caught up in the closeness. His touch, the scent of his Burberry cologne, even his heartbeat through his shirt was mesmerizing. They hesitantly separated and she looked around. The place was empty. The table where they’d dined had been cleared of dinner dishes and replaced with tiramisu and coffee. The kitchen was dark. Everyone else seemed to have left. She had been so wrapped up in their dance; she didn’t even notice any of it taking place. She could add magical to the list of adjectives she had started compiling to describe him.

They had their dessert and returned to small talk. He quizzed her about baseball, and she wowed him with her knowledge. She didn’t just know the basics, but the intricate points of the game, why the infield fly rule was important, why bats came in different weights and sizes, and why a player would choose one over another. She was able to talk about strategy. His face briefly clouded over defensively while confirming that he never took steroids, and they both agreed it was cheating, but that players who took them before they became illegal shouldn’t necessarily be denied entry into the Hall of Fame. By the time they left and caught Eric napping in his car, waiting to lock up, Chase knew Amanda Cole was the woman he’d been waiting for. There was only one question left to answer: Could she—would she—be willing to play all his games, even the kinky ones? Something in his gut told him no, and then his head told him he could worry about it later. His heart told him none of it mattered.