From Enemies to Expecting(27)

“Got it covered. My publicist does, anyway,” he amended as Trinity lifted her brows in question. “She’s sending someone to all three games to take photos of us in my suite.”

“We have a suite?” Like with a bed? Suddenly the prospect of sitting through three baseball games got a little more interesting. “You should have mentioned that way before now. Maybe we can take an adult nap during the middle part when nothing happens.”

She waggled her brows to be sure he picked up on the double entendre.

His chuckle warmed her enormously. “It’s not like a hotel suite. It’s a skybox with seats for people to watch the action on the field, but with air-conditioning and a bar. I also invited several acquaintances to come hang out with us. It’ll be a party.”

Oh. That still sounded better than being outside in the sun while watching guys in uniforms hit a ball. “I shall be attentive and adoring in front of your friends. And the photographer.”

Just that morning, a new article had made the rounds with damaging allegations about Fyra’s animal testing practices. Cass had already involved their lawyer to see if they could sue. But anything Trinity could do to negate that bunch of BS would only help.

He climbed from the limo and helped her out, slipping an arm around her waist to guide her inside. The porter began pulling luggage from the limo’s trunk as people surged forward, cameras poised to begin snapping money shots of the couple they’d come to photograph.

“Nice shoes,” he murmured in her ear as flashes went off around them.

Yeah, she’d worn her six-inch Prada heels even though her ankles got puffy when she flew. The straps were cutting into her flesh and she’d lost feeling in her toes at least three hours ago. But she liked it when he could put his arm around her, too.

“You’re welcome.”

He grinned, and she promptly forgot about her ankles. Maybe she could talk him into an adult nap right this minute. Just to take the edge off. Her insides had never quite cooled after that second kiss Saturday night, and she’d be quite happy to pick up where they’d left off.

But then she distinctly heard him tell the hotel clerk two rooms. “What?”

He glanced at her. “One sec. I’m checking in.”

“I realize that.” She smiled at the clerk. “Excuse us for a moment, please.”

The charter bus the rest of the team had ridden in from the airport picked that moment to unload. A wave of testosterone flowed through the doors, raising the noise level to a dull roar as the athletes, coaches and staff members sorted themselves out.

Dragging Logan to an uncrowded corner of the lobby was no small feat given both her precarious balance and his resemblance to an immovable mountain. But he came willingly, which she appreciated. She raised her brows. “Are you insane? We can’t have separate rooms.”

“We not only can, we are.” He crossed his arms. “As soon as I get the keys, that is.”

Aghast, she stared at him, but he looked perfectly serious. “After you went to the trouble to hire photographers, what are the odds they’ll snap a picture of us going into separate rooms? Like a hundred and ten percent.”

He scowled. “So? We can be a chaste couple waiting for marriage, can’t we?”

His scowl deepened the harder she laughed. When she finally got herself under control, she gingerly dabbed at her eyelashes without fear thanks to Harper’s waterproof, smudge-proof, morning after–proof mascara, all of which Trinity had personally tested.

“Did you actually look at the pictures from Saturday night?” She had. A lot. And twice she’d had to finish the job he’d started herself. Her vibrator hadn’t ever gotten so much action. “They had ten times the reach that the ones from Friday did. The posed red carpet thing? Not for us. The spontaneous, hotter-than-hell, can’t-wait-to-screw-each-other vibe is what our fans like. What they want to see.”

His expression didn’t change, and her panic level started an uphill climb. She needed him. Needed to get hot and heavy away from the camera. Inspiration was in short supply, and he was hogging it all.

“No. It’s not happening. I’ve already made huge concessions—”

“Like what?” Hands on her hips, she forced her voice back down into a lower register before someone overheard them. She didn’t mind if the photographers captured a public fight, but she did not want them to splash the cause of it across the web. “I’m the one constantly changing my clothes and—”

“One time you changed, and only because I forced you—”

“You so did not force me. I let you change my clothes because it suited me. Make no mistake, you don’t control me.”