Thrown By Love by Pamela Aares

hauled in a breath.
“I’ve seen how Fisher is dealing with you, dealing with Kemp, how he’s playing favorites with guys he’s brought onto the team. And I know this looks bad, my being new to the team, and . . . well, how we met. But I thought you should know. We thought you should know.”
Why adding we and including Alex seemed important, he wasn’t sure. All of this, even his actions toward her, could be construed as self-serving.
She crossed her arms and let out a deep sigh. People had begun to filter into the picnic area while they’d stood talking. She glanced over her shoulder as players and their families roamed in and claimed tables.
“My dad wasn’t a hundred percent in the months after he hired Fisher, I know that now.” She ran her hand along the bark of the oak tree. “I appreciate the heads-up. I’ll look into it.” She let out another breath and tipped her face to the sky. “And you have my word that I’ll keep this confidential. I’ll tell Alex myself.”
“He had to head back up north,” Scotty said. “There was an emergency at his vineyard. There aren’t many afternoons off.” He felt stupid for adding that. She knew how few afternoons, how few days there were off during a season. “But Jackie’s headed over. Alana’s driving her.”
She smiled, but tension lingered behind her expression.
He wanted to reach out and pull her to him, to hold her, rock her, kiss her. He wanted to vaporize Fisher and every guy like him and make her world safe and smooth. But he saw her glance nervously toward the gathering crowd.
The woman needed an out. He would too, if he’d been on the other end of things.
“Look, see you on the volleyball court? I need to check on Smokey.”
She touched his arm. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he mumbled in an uncomfortably formal tone. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and headed for his car. He damn well hoped that his reaction to her touch didn’t show in his eyes. Because he knew it showed somewhere else. He felt like a jerk. She was struggling to run a team against some pretty serious odds and, in spite of his best efforts to ignore his urges, all he could think about was getting her into his bed and making love to her until the lines of worry melted from her face.
     

     
Scotty let Smokey out of the car and threw a tennis ball for him. Picnics were usually fun, but this was shaping up to be a damn miserable afternoon. He tried to put on a good face, but every time he glanced at Chloe, the professor dude had her laughing.
When Jackie and Alana arrived a few minutes later, Jackie wasted no time before pointing out his less-than-cheery mood. At least Alana helped take his mind off his misery. He’d met her a couple times up at Alex’s place in Sonoma; she was the life of any party. Within minutes she dragged him out into the perfectly manicured sand rectangle where the volleyball net was set up and had him teaching her the basics of the game. He showed her how to bump and spike the ball and concluded that she was stronger than she appeared.
“Alex told me you live on a ranch,” Scotty said as he chased down an errant ball and tossed it to her.
“Oh no. I just visit,” she said. “It’s my grandmother’s. It’s more like a farm.” She gripped one hand over the other and bumped his toss perfectly. “Forty thousand olive trees.” She gave Scotty a slow-lidded wink. “I live in the city. But I do like to spend time up there. Sometimes I like to dig in the earth.”
He dove for one of her spikes, and she landed on top of him. With a grin, she climbed off in a slow, smooth slither. Scotty looked up to see Chloe glaring at them. He could’ve walked the ice bridge that shot out from her stare. Alana saw it too, but it didn’t faze her. Why it made Scotty feel elated was something he didn’t want to think about.
He set the ball. Alana dug out hard to reach it and fell face first into the sand.
He gave her a hand up. “Good effort.”