Slow Heat

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To my dear friend Gena, who when I said I was stuck, ever so sweetly told me to shut up and get writing, because she wanted something good to read.

And to Nicole, who is never afraid to tell me when I suck. The sign of a true friend.

Love you both bunches!

She’d read somewhere that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but Samantha McNead knew better than that-in certain men the stomach was aiming just a bit too high.

Wade O’Riley was one of them.

The best defensive catcher in Major League Baseball, he had women lining up to meet him wherever he went. And it wasn’t home cooking that they wanted to give him either.

Not that Wade seemed to mind. Nope, even with all the constraints that went with the new big, fat, multimillion dollar contract he’d just signed for Santa Barbara’s expansion team, the Heat, the guy seemed oblivious to pressure. Laid-back and easygoing, he took everything as it came, with a grain of salt and a slow, knowing smile that let everyone in on the joke.

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