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  But more recently, Chase had expanded his place in history with a bona fide sex scandal. The truth was Chase Walker loved to spank naughty women. He felt it was his duty to protect, cherish, and serve discipline. It was a secret fetish he managed to keep to himself for years, even from his friend and college roommate—not that Logan felt it was really any of his business. Looking back, all the signs had been there. Chase used the word “behave” a lot. He had a suggestively domineering approach to women that seemed to act as a magnet instead of a turnoff. He was never too emotionally attached to any one girl, even before making the pros, yet his exes would seemingly melt in his presence when they encountered him again. Chase, in turn, would be genuinely happy to see them.

  Amanda Cole, a beautiful, self-assured business owner, found Chase’s dominant side very romantically appealing, much to her own initial surprise. They met four years into Chase’s ten-year deal with the Kings and within weeks they became exclusive, each intent on bringing the other into line. Thanks to an inconveniently placed security camera in a Kings Stadium tunnel, a shady employee, and a slow news week, Chase and Amanda were unwittingly exposed in a harmless game of naughty-girl foreplay, and Chase’s secret, their secret, was uncovered.

  Mortified at first, Amanda took to going underground. Chase, however, faced the public with the same rakish charm he’d won them over with in the first place. If the media wanted to scandalize what amounted to nothing more than a silly private moment between two consenting single adults, there really wasn’t much he could do about it. He followed that up with the standing offer that if any media outlet found they had too much dead air on their hands or pages that needed filling, he would happily spare the time to do a story on any of the numerous and unsung charities he participated in. He backed that up with a week of sending TMZ his itinerary. The story quickly faded and the Golden Boy stayed golden. And it freed him from the only skeleton that would ever fall out of his closet. He no longer had to concern himself with the slim chance of a past partner coming out of the woodwork to blackmail him about his sex life, not that he’d actually spent much time worrying about it to begin with. And a few women did come out to tell their tales, eager to claim their fifteen minutes of fame at his expense, as the media briefly debated whether or not he had crossed some politically correct line. But even Chase’s would-be accusers came off sounding more worshipful of him than tarnishing. It earned him another title—the “Sexiest Who’s Your Daddy.” That brought Amanda out of hiding in record time, with a jealous fury that left Chase even more enchanted with her. It was as if he’d tapped into an underground trend just itching to come to life. Any lingering interest in the topic was met with Chase flashing his eighty-five-million-dollar-a-year smile, maintaining that a gentleman would never kiss and tell, and the subject was dropped—whether or not anyone else wanted it that way.

  With her deep-blue angel eyes and voluptuous curves, Amanda put a spell on Chase from the moment they met and gave him quite a run for his money to boot. But she would never love another, and if in exchange she had to give up some of her privacy, he was, without question, worth it. She trusted that he would protect her and he did. Their private life stayed relatively private. One was rarely seen without the other nearby. She learned to adapt and go with the flow.

  Now Amanda was the one thing she’d sworn she would never be: a trophy wife. And it felt great. After all, he was her trophy husband. They were inseparable. While others were betting the relationship wouldn’t last, that Chase and Amanda would burn themselves out on each other, those who knew them well knew better.

  Logan was in the know.

  Logan never had a real problem with Amanda’s joining Chase on his workouts. She stuck mostly to the treadmill and elliptical machines, unless it was her turn to train, since she had become a part-time client as well. Amanda and Chase worked out at completely different levels. Chase worked out hard-core, sometimes never making with the small talk at all, depending on what time of the year it was and how his performance stats were looking. Amanda, on the other hand, looked at her training sessions as more like social events, considering her personal appointments were scheduled while her husband wasn’t available, even to her. Logan had the distinct impression that his role was that of a diversion for Amanda and a glorified babysitter in Chase’s absence, something he surely wouldn’t have chosen, but he knew there was little he could do about it. Refusing to accommodate his best friend and the man who’d helped him on the road to success wasn’t an option, so Logan did his best to entertain Amanda while at the same time improve her fitness level. It worked about 50 percent of the time. Logan could get her to concentrate during the actual exercises, but in between sets she could be counted on for a running commentary on everything from current events to analyzing the most intimate details of Logan’s private life. Being attracted to Amanda was never even remotely an issue, but wanting to apply duct tape over her mouth was. She was relentless in her sisterly pestering. She said that Logan was getting too old to be a player and would never find true happiness until he had someone to share his life with. She would cite countless examples of how her happy-go-lucky husband had found peace because he had someone to call his own. It was both endearing and infuriating, mostly because it had a ring of truth to it, not that Logan would ever admit it. Once Chase Walker found something he loved as much as baseball, he really did seem complete, dragging Amanda with him wherever he went, whenever he could. The only part of having them in the gym together that bothered Logan was how damn mushy they were all the time. Whenever Chase took a break and she was within arm’s reach, he kissed her, touched her cheek, or patted her bottom. And her timing for being within reach was impeccable. It was enough to send a diabetic running for insulin. Logan had stopped telling them to “get a room” months ago. It did no good anyway; they barely heard him. When Logan went out with them socially, it was just as bad. But they all knew Chase’s body was his career, so when it was time to work, they all got down to business, trying to curtail the public displays of affection during baseball season.

  Chase and Amanda looked at Logan as he burst through the door. The treadmills stopped.

  “Rough night?” Chase did a halfhearted double take while jumping onto the gym floor. Amanda was infinitely more interested and turned around, leaning against her treadmill. Logan looked a wreck. He had bags under his eyes and a slight case of bed head. His shirt showed evidence of dried sweat. He didn’t smell so hot, either.

  “Sorry I’m late. Let’s get to work.” Logan held up his hand, a preemptive strike. “Amanda, nothing further, if you would be so kind.”

  “Oh, I think not,” she teased, her arms crossing over her chest. It was so rare for him to have a hair out of place, much less oversleep. She gave Chase a meaningful glance. “What could have Logan so backward today?”

  “A client. Let’s get to work.” Logan jerked a thumb toward the leg press.

  “A client who keeps you out all night? And just what sort of program is she on? Is that ice cream on your shirt?”

  “Amanda,” Chase broke in, tapping his watch several times while Logan examined his shirt, “there’s batting practice at ten. I have to be out of here by eight thirty. Playoffs, dear, playoffs.”

  “I guess it’s safe to assume this is a new client?” Amanda declared, pretending she didn’t hear her husband. The playoffs were months away.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Amanda. It’s not what you’re thinking, although as always, I appreciate your enthusiasm. Yes, it’s a new client,” Logan told her, while trying to scratch out the offending stain that graced the center of his shirt.

  “A new client?” Amanda repeated deliberately, taking a quick look at her husband before going back to Logan. “Where are you squeezing her …”—she held the long, drawn-out pause for full effect—“ … in? And why are we just hearing about her now? It’s probably also safe to assume that now that she’s kept you out all night, she won’t be writing you any more checks?”
/>   “The reason you’re hearing about her now is because I was trying to spare myself the exchange we’re currently having. I know nothing brightens your day more than the prospect of becoming my wedding planner. This is nothing like that.” He gave up on the shirt and, taking it off, walked hurriedly to his small office in the back of the gym to pull out one of the extra tees he kept in his desk before calling back at them, “She’s a recent widow.”

  “Why am I having trouble picturing a seventy-year-old?” Amanda mused impishly to her husband, though she made the comment loud enough for Logan to hear.

  “Maybe because she isn’t seventy?” Chase said while doing several warm-up lunges and then touching his toes. “I’m willing to bet she’s not even thirty.”

  “It’s true, she’s not seventy. Not every woman I come in contact with is a potential booty call,” Logan told them both reprovingly as he returned, not bothering to tuck the new shirt into his shorts. “And she is, too, over thirty. She’s just having a really hard time.”

  “Hard time?” Amanda let out a giggle. “Helped her out with that, now, did you?”

  “You have to go there, don’t you? I’d like to think that even I’m not enough of a dog to take advantage of a grieving widow.”

  “It has nothing to do with your being a dog, Logan. I just know how much you like your sleep. There’s usually only one thing you let interrupt it,” Amanda told him, not unkindly.

  “Sleep is as important as exercise,” Logan said in agreement. “But this was a bit of a crisis. Besides, she’s not my type.”

  “This one is less than six feet tall? Can’t fit through a straw? Has a brain? Doesn’t bite? Come on, she has to fall into one of those categories somewhere.” Amanda continued the unrelenting probe, taking full advantage of yet another slip.

  Chase was beginning to shift impatiently from one foot to the other but still managed a snicker. Logan looked to him, imploring. “Help me out here, Chase. I’m too tired to play with her today.”

  Unfortunately Logan’s fluster had raised a red flag. Logan was being way too protective about the circumstances behind his lateness. Chase was now curious. Normally, Logan never had a problem talking about any woman. “I have to admit, you are acting a bit strange—I would even go as far as to say a tad defensive—about this new secret client of yours. I’m probably going to hate myself for this, but … if you’re not looking to get her naked, what gives?”

  Logan realized that once Chase sided with his wife, Logan had no choice but to comply or the inquisition would go full throttle. So he rushed through what he hoped would be enough to satisfy them. “I was seated next to her on an airplane, on the way back from nursing you in Toronto, you big baby.”

  “Excuse me, but that was a career-threatening injury.” Chase tried to sound sympathetic and then promptly abandoned the tactic. “And I was bored as shit.” Amanda had been forced to stay in New Jersey for that trip, with her father having knee surgery. The Blue Jays were also decimated with injuries and in last place with little hope of getting out of the basement any time during the season. Since they were going to rest him anyway to make sure he didn’t aggravate the muscle, Chase saw it as the perfect opportunity to pal around Toronto with his closest friend during the four-game road trip.

  “Wait a minute,” Amanda said giddily. “You met her on the plane back from that ridiculous excursion?”

  Logan thought it best to ignore them both and continued. “We got to talking. She’s a nice girl. Way overweight. Out of shape. Had some rough breaks. She lives nearby. I’m helping her make some changes. That’s it.”

  “Ah.” Chase read between the lines, his conclusion reached. “A new Frankenstein’s monster for you, I see. It has been a while.”

  “That’s cold,” Logan said, feeling a bit outwitted. “You want to talk about Frankenstein’s monsters? It didn’t even take you a New York minute to turn a savvy businesswoman like Amanda into a total spoiled brat. Besides, I prefer to think of it more like the story of the ugly duckling. Women are all beautiful once they realize their potential and live up to it.”

  “That analogy is so much better,” Amanda said, chiming in sarcastically, not the least bit offended by the brat reference and more intrigued than ever. “But I don’t think I’m buying it.”

  Logan thought about Holly’s ashen face as she sat on the floor in a room full of rented medical equipment that should have been returned over a year ago. He thought about her all alone for nearly two years in an oversized house still full of her dead husband’s belongings. He wasn’t sure he knew how to share what happened last night with the friends he knew lived such a charmed life. He was troubled by it himself. “This one is different, guys. This one really needed a friend.”

  It was plain to see the change in Logan’s posture. He sounded worried. Amanda could tell right away this was not a normal Logan condition.

  “Do you think she could use another one?” Amanda asked sincerely.

  “Another friend? I’m not sure she’s ready for the likes of you,” Logan teased her affectionately.

  “None of us were,” Chase chimed in, winking at his wife.

  Amanda wrinkled her nose in mock annoyance at her husband before turning back to Logan. “Look, if you say she’s a recent widow, surely she could use a bit of fun. Why don’t you let us give her the royal treatment at Kings Stadium for the night? You usually take in a game when the Red Sox are in town; why don’t you bring her along? We’ll show her a good time.”

  Logan considered it for a moment. The Walkers were excellent hosts. And it could serve a dual purpose. Once Amanda met Holly, she would abandon all efforts at trying to see the situation as anything more than what it actually was. Leaving Amanda to let her imagination run wild and come to her own conclusions could end up making him miserable. Besides, Holly could use the opportunity to break free from the confines of that house for a while. “I think it’s a great idea. Thanks for the offer.”

  Amanda quickly turned back to Chase. “Pick a night.”

  “Saturday,” Chase replied, sounding more impatient.

  “Oh, and just for the record, one of the last women I dated had a PhD,” Logan added.

  “More like a Ph double D.” Amanda couldn’t resist one more dig. “And maybe after the game we can do dinner or drinks or something. What do you think, honey?”

  Chase had his questions answered and had hit his limit of husbandly indulgence. He needed to pump some iron. He made his way over to the leg press, where Logan was waiting, while switching into borderline-disciplinarian mode. “Fine. Whatever. Logan, tickets will be at the will-call window. Amanda, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to drag you over a weight bench, and it won’t be to spot me.” After giving her loving husband a tiny smirk, Amanda turned back to the treadmill and kicked it up to a jog. He would have to catch her first. And later on that night, she would make sure he did.

  Chapter Eight

  Logan was waiting for Holly right where he said he would be, outside the stadium entrance nearest the will-call window. He had offered to pick her up, but she told him not to bother. It gave her more time to come to grips with the fact that she was really going out, being social. She wasn’t even sure she knew how to do that anymore, not that she was ever really all that good at it to begin with. And she wasn’t just going to be social; she was going to be front-and-center, hanging-with-the-in-crowd social. Just the thought was overwhelming and her first instinct had been to politely refuse. But when Logan explained that the invitation was issued because he was late to his most famous client’s appointment after falling asleep on her couch, she really didn’t see where she had much of a choice. She had woken up the next morning to find herself covered up and alone, convinced she had dreamed the whole night, until she saw she was still wearing her sneakers and found the ice cream spoon in her sink. The memory came flooding back. She had told him nearly every single detail of her sad, pathetic life, short of the most pathetic secret of all. She hadn’t m
arried Bruce Brennan because she was deeply in love. She married him because he was the first person who asked, the only person who showed any interest in her at all, and because it enabled her to make her escape. He had been an acceptable means to an end. He was kind and considerate but quirky and a bit of a loner, much like she was. Bruce was a classic left-brained overanalyzer, supremely logical and willing to believe only what he could calculate to a successful conclusion. Even the way he proposed was more like a complex equation of vectors and variables than any heartfelt declaration of love and devotion. When she accepted, it felt like she had just completed a business transaction, but she entered into the binding agreement telling herself they were kindred spirits who would get stronger by leaning on each other. He wasn’t overly emotional when he found out about her parents, calmly telling her that her past wasn’t nearly as important as their future. When her parents didn’t attend their wedding, he married Holly and whisked her away, never mentioning them again unless Holly did, only to remind her that what was ahead of her certainly couldn’t be worse than what she’d left behind.

  They stumbled awkwardly through life in the beginning but learned to trust, and she could honestly say that love did grow. Maybe not the white-hot, passionate love she read about and saw in the movies, but more of a mild-mannered, dependable coupling. Bruce conducted sex the same way he did everything else—carefully programmed. It was always in bed, always at night, and always a predictable routine that started with several quick openmouthed kisses. What followed was a pattern of synchronized touching; mounting, with a few pants from her and the occasional grunt from him; then release. An underlying sound track of porno music wouldn’t have made it exciting.

  But they had a steady, respectful, mutual caring that surely would have endured the test of time. However, they weren’t afforded the opportunity to put that theory to the test. Instead, he withered and died before Holly’s eyes, refusing to leave his care to anyone but her. She would take it to her grave that near the end of his life, she resented Bruce Brennan. Resented him for convincing her that as long as they had each other, they would never need anyone else—then leaving her, more alone than when she started. She resented him for having made her assume the role of his nurse, with all the nonstop mess and anguish that came with it. For lingering on the brink of death as long as he did after he no longer recognized her, having left her behind in the haze of a hospice-approved morphine drip weeks before. She began to blame him. That his illness had resulted in the very things she ran away from—caregiving, death, and having to clean up afterward. The only thing worse was the guilt over the resentment after he was gone.