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Then he held out a hand. “Come on. It’s late. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten since?—”

As if on cue, her stomach let out an indignant growl. She pressed a hand to it, half-embarrassed. “Try breakfast.”

He chuckled. “Exactly my point. This team can’t afford to have another one of its leaders down for the count. Let’s go get dinner.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Together?”

He shrugged, playful. “We both need to eat. And I hate eating alone.”

“I’m surprised you’re not used to it,” she said, arching a brow. “You bounce from city to city, team to team…”

“Doesn’t mean I like it,” he replied, his tone softer now. “What do you say? Afraid to be seen with me? Or are you worried your hormones will get the better of you and you’ll end up climbing across the table?”

She laughed, the tension in her chest finally cracking. “Please. You wish, Wainright.”

His grin deepened. “You have no idea.”

“Give me a minute,” she said, standing and powering down her laptop. She slid it into the drawer and locked it with a practiced motion. “One night. A real meal. No baseball talk unless I check my phone for trade updates. The Prosser deal isn’t final yet.”

He stepped back to give her room, watching her like he was already reading the night ahead like a scouting report. Calculated. Focused. But something else simmered just below the surface.

Not that this was a date.

Absolutely not.

Still… she smoothed her blouse and grabbed her coat with a little more care than necessary.

Just dinner.

For now.

L ucas guided Miranda into the elevator, then through the employee parking garage, his hand resting at the small of her back—hot through the thin fabric of her blouse, a subtle claim she couldn’t ignore.

She instinctively veered toward her own parking spot, but his gentle pressure steered her left, toward his car.

“My mother always told me,” he said, his voice smooth as aged whiskey, “that a gentleman always drives the lady. No exceptions.”

“Even when it’s just a business dinner?” she asked, though her pulse quickened at the glide in his tone.

“Especially then.” He shot her a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Besides, this isn’t business. It’s two old friends catching up… maybe more.”

The words skated along her spine like silk, teasing her with heat. She felt it low and deep, an ache wrapped in anticipation. Part of her was thrilled—exhilarated by the electric charge pulsing between them. This wasn’t just business, and they both knew it.

She hadn’t realized how long her body had gone untouched, how long she’d gone without being seen. Not just as team president. Not as Seamus Callahan’s daughter. But as a woman.

One night couldn’t hurt. Just enough to silence the teenage fantasies that had never really faded. To answer the adult question her body kept whispering: Would one taste be enough?

Time to find out.

He led her to a gleaming black Audi S5, sleek and muscular like its driver. He clicked the key fob, and the car chirped in response.

“I see Major League Baseball takes good care of you,” she said, letting her gaze run over the luxury coupe. “Sporty and practical.”

Lucas grinned, the kind of grin that had likely undone women in more than one city. “I like my cars like I like my women—smart, sexy, and fast.” He shot her a look as he opened the door. “This lady’s mine.”

She arched a brow, playful. “Smart, too? Most men run screaming from intelligent women. Must bruise their fragile egos.”

“Maybe some,” he said, voice dropping an octave.

“But I like a woman who challenges me. Brains are hotter than lingerie—though…” His gaze swept slowly down her body, lingering on the tailored lines of her suit, the pencil skirt that hugged her hips and ended a few scandalous inches above her knee.

“I don’t exactly hate the wardrobe either. ”

She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, then turned, leaning back against the car, arms crossed. “Brains and beauty. How rare.”

He stepped forward, slipping around the open door, closing the distance until her back was pressed against the car and his body all but caged her in. The heat radiating off him curled around her like smoke.

“Not that rare,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. “The brain’s the most sensual organ in the body. Though…” his voice dipped lower, rougher, “I tend to favor skin. And lips.”

Then he kissed her.

It started soft—just a brush, exploratory, like a question.

But his hand curved around her waist, drawing her flush against him, and her body answered yes without hesitation.

A quiet moan escaped her as she looped her arms around his neck, clinging as his mouth deepened the kiss.

His tongue coaxed hers into a slow, delicious tangle, a sensual dance that made her knees weaken.

She melted into him, tilting her head back as his lips grazed down her jawline, then over the fluttering pulse at her throat. He sucked gently, and fire exploded low in her belly.

Then, just as suddenly, he broke away—his breath ragged, his eyes dark with restraint. He kept one hand at her waist, steadying her… or maybe steadying himself. Her chest heaved with each breath, her lips still tingling from the kiss that had derailed her entire night—and possibly her common sense.

Lucas stepped back.

Miranda blinked, realizing her hands were still clenched around his forearms, fingers digging into his shirt sleeves hard enough to leave imprints. Slowly, almost sheepishly, she released him and flexed her aching fingers, trying to calm the wild racing of her heart.

He looked down at her hands with a half-smile. “Easy there, tiger.”

She inhaled shakily, then straightened her skirt and chin. “Shall we?”

He gestured gallantly toward the open car door. “Dinner first.”

She slid into the seat, still breathless. “Then dessert,” she murmured.

He chuckled, already rounding the hood to the driver’s side. “Now that’s what I call incentive.”