Lisa Ruff - Man of the Year

She turned away, looking for the nearest exit, anxious to put distance between her and this too compelling man. He stepped close and stopped her, encircling her wrist lightly with calloused fingers.

“Not so fast. We’re just getting warmed up here.”

“The inning is over, Mr. Corliss. It’s time for you to go back to the bench.”

“Come on, Sammy, I haven’t even had a chance to throw one yet. Have dinner with me tonight.”

The question surprised her. The impulse to say yes surprised her even more. “Strike one, Mr. Corliss.”

“Didn’t I just put one right over the plate?”

“Sorry, no. That one was wild.”

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“No. Thank you, Mr. Corliss, but no.”

She tugged away from him, but he let her get only half-free. He ran a finger down her cheek and over her chin. The touch was so electric that Samantha’s hand tightened around his. All her good intentions vanished.

Dear Reader,

Having my very first book published by Harlequin American Romance has been a thrilling adventure! Thanks for choosing to read it; I’m glad you decided to join me.

The inspiration for this book came while watching a Little League game one warm spring day. Some of those nine-year-olds played so hard and so seriously. I wondered what happened to those boys as they grew up. Who would they become as young men? Would they still dream of hitting a home run or making a double play? And what would they risk to hold on to that dream? Their love for the game was so intense, what could possibly get in its way? And what about all those little girls who had dreams of their own? I had to know the answers to my questions, and Man of the Year began to unfold, as if the story was telling itself.

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please visit me at www.lisaruff.net. And keep a watch out for my next book from Harlequin.

Happy reading,

Lisa Ruff

Lisa Ruff was born in Montana and grew up in Idaho but met the man of her dreams in Seattle. She married Kirk promising to love, honor and edit his rough drafts. His pursuit of writing led Lisa to the craft. A longtime reader of romance, she decided to try to create one herself. The first version of Man of the Year took three months to finish, but her day job got in the way of polishing the manuscript. She stuffed it into a drawer, where it languished for several years.

In pursuit of time to write and freedom to explore the world, Lisa, Kirk and their cat sailed from Seattle on a thirty-seven-foot boat. They spent five years cruising around Central America and the Caribbean. Lisa wrote romance, but it took a backseat to an adventurous life. She was busy writing travel essays, learning to speak Spanish from taxi drivers and handling a small boat in gale-force winds.

When she returned to land life, she finally revised Man of the Year and sent it to an agent. Within a year she had a contract from Harlequin American Romance.

She and her husband are cruising on a sailboat again somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. When not setting sail for another port, she is working on her next Harlequin romance.

For Kirk.

I could not have done it without you.

Thanks for giving up Maine.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Samantha took a deep breath and unclenched her fists as she neared the wide blue doors. Relax, it’s just another job. But this was not just another job, at least not like any others she’d had. The doors were closed, but the scent of the locker room slipped past them and wafted around her. Male sweat, liniment and antifungal remedies teased her nose, growing stronger with each step. At the doors, her guide, Peter Brinks, stopped and cleared his throat.

“Here we are.”

She answered with a smile she hoped showed cool assurance. Beyond these doors was a male sanctuary where few women ventured. Few were allowed. Samantha was one of the lucky ones. Or unlucky, depending on how things went today. The thought made her fists clench again. She chided herself: it was only a locker room—no big deal. She had seen a man naked before, right? This was her job and going in there was part of the deal. She squared her shoulders and uncurled her fingers, but sweat coated her palms. She had to admit the truth to herself: an entire room full of naked men was a daunting prospect.

Peter opened one of the doors and poked his head inside. “Hey, guys. Cover up,” he yelled in warning. “I got a lady coming through.”

The laughter and chatter swelling out of the room ebbed for a moment. Peter waited, his head still around the edge of the blue door. Samantha smothered a laugh. He was as nervous as she was about all those naked bodies she might glimpse. Finally, he stood back, opening the door wide for her.

“Everything looks decent in there now, Miss James.” Peter chuckled as he ushered her through the door. “At least as decent as it gets in this place. Right this way.”

Peter led her through a maze of wood benches and metal lockers enameled the same shade of blue as the two front doors. A fine mist hung in the room, courtesy of the hot showers, and the smells were even more pungent inside. The wintergreen of liniment combined with acrid sweat made Samantha’s eyes sting. She tried not to stare as she passed the athletes in various states of undress. It was not easy. They were so large and…and muscular. The steam from the showers glistened on rippling biceps and washboard stomachs. Drops of water slipped down powerful chests and into the curling hair spread there. It was no different from being at the beach, she told herself. But she knew that was a lie. These men were professional athletes. They were paid—and paid well—to keep their bodies in top condition. Her uncontrollable fascination embarrassed her, though not enough to stop her from sneaking glances. This was better than any beach she had ever visited.

The men watched her pass through their midst with just as much curiosity—and, it seemed to her in some cases, with as much embarrassment. After all, it wasn’t every day that a woman strolled through this male domain. But Samantha expected to spend much more time here in the future, so they had better get used to her. She would have to get used to them, too. Peter led the way through the maze of maleness to a glass-walled office on one side. As she followed him into it, Samantha’s attention settled on the matter at hand. She widened her smile and stuck her hand out confidently.

“Coach Cummings, I’m Samantha James. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

JARRETT CORLISS WAS ONE of forty players that watched the woman weave through the room. Unlike some of his teammates, he was not embarrassed to be clad in only a damp towel, slung low across his hips, while a beautiful woman walked past. He was curious, though. The slim, graceful redhead had caused a hush to fall over the normally raucous room. More than one head had swiveled to follow the gently swaying hips beneath the navy-blue suit. And since they were looking in that general direction, they gave her legs a thorough assessment, too: long, luxurious legs encased in silk that looked like they lasted forever.

The fiery mane of hair wrapped into a neat roll at the base of her neck caught Jarrett’s eye first. He scanned down the rest of her body and back to her face, where his attention locked. From across the room he could see her straight nose, arched eyebrows and clear, peachy skin. What color were her eyes? They must be green to set off that hair. Jarrett narrowed his eyes, squinting as he did during his wind-up on the mound. What would she look like without the stiff business suit, he wondered. Just how far did that peachy skin go?

Jarrett absently rubbed his right shoulder, running his hand over the ridge of scar tissue as he stared at her back. And just how did a woman like that fit into management’s plans? With all the changes around the club, he wouldn’t be surprised to see them walk an elephant through this place. A woman made him more wary. He rubbed his shoulder harder and figured he would find out soon enough.

“Shoulder bothering you, Corliss?”

Jarrett turned to the pitching coach. “It’s a little stiff. A few more workouts, it’ll be fit as a fiddle,” he replied with a sure wink.

The coach didn’t smile in return. “Give it a good soaking in the whirlpool. And don’t overwork it.” Before Jarrett could answer, the coach was interrogating another pitcher.

Jarrett grimaced. Was the guy joking? As if he would take chances at this stage of recovery. He tried not to let the burning in his shoulder affect his temper, but the coach’s trite advice, coupled with the annoying pain in the joint, ate at him. There was not one inning, not one single practice, when someone wasn’t doubting him or fretting over his pitching or his shoulder. Well, let them worry. The satisfaction of proving them all wrong in the end would be worth the pain now.

In his better moments, Jarrett understood why everyone was skeptical. He could be as realistic as they were. Maybe more so. Few teams wanted to take a chance on a pitcher recovering from rotator-cuff surgery. When the injured pitcher was already twenty-eight years old and there were dozens of other hungry, younger arms begging for a chance, why bother with a has-been? But Jarrett had recovered, or at least he was on his way. He had proved himself a few times in practice this last week, so the coach’s fussing irked him. It also spurred him to work harder, to put more speed in his fastball, more curve in his slider, for himself and for the team. Mostly for himself. The Rainiers were his last hope.

And if the Rainiers were his last hope, he was theirs, too. The team was in deep trouble. Management denied it fervently to the sports reporters and even to the players, but a persistent rumor said the team would be sold before the end of the season and moved to some other city. He rubbed his shoulder again.

Jarrett knew the Rainiers’ troubles were precisely the reason they had plucked him as a last-chance free agent. The team’s owner, Andrew Elliott, needed a winning season, but couldn’t afford the best pitcher in the world. He also didn’t have time to groom a new pitcher. So like any desperate owner strapped for cash, Elliott had gone bargain hunting and found Jarrett, injured but full of potential, experience and skill. So while Jarrett was not exactly the Rainiers’ best hope, he was the best hope they could afford. He was realistic about this. Even grateful. They were taking a chance on him. He would give them everything he had, which might be a considerable contribution if his shoulder held up. And if not? Well, best not to think of that.

Coach Cummings blew a short, sharp blast on the whistle that always hung around his neck. Every head snapped to attention, including Jarrett’s. Alongside the coach stood the peachy-skinned redhead.

“Men, I want to introduce Samantha James. She’s with Emerald Advertising. The club has hired her and her company to promote our team and maybe get a few more citizens into the stadium when we take the field.” All eyes that weren’t on her already shifted to look at Samantha. No one bothered looking at the coach again. “I’m going to bring her around and introduce her. She would like to speak with each of you personally, since—”