"I'm such an idiot." Maddie repeated it like a mantra as she made her way up to the press box. She hadn't even reached the second step on her way back up the stands when she realized she'd made a huge mistake in agreeing to a clandestine interview with Jake Miller. She was a professional, and she'd acted almost like a star–struck groupie.

Okay, maybe not that bad, but she hadn't done herself any credit. As for hoping that a super friendly manner might soften him up...well, that had backfired in her face, hadn't it?

From the minute the Patriots' manager had told her Miller was going to be called up, she'd been determined to snag an interview with him. Even stalking him if she'd had to. So, she'd come to the field early, springing into action as soon as he ran out from the clubhouse to warm up. Maddie had only ever seen him play from a seat in the stands, always from a fair distance away. While she knew he was a major league heartthrob, the first time she really got it was in that moment when he'd turned and nailed her with his focused gaze. Up close, he was way hotter than she'd expected.

Maddie had pretty much memorized his media guide numbers: thirty–one years old, six–four, and two hundred thirty–five pounds. But those numbers were just that—cold numbers. Statistics. They didn't begin to give an adequate picture of the man. Jake Miller was indeed a very big ballplayer, superbly conditioned and toned without an apparent ounce of extra weight on his imposing frame. He was simply solid from head to toe, from his muscular neck down through strong, broad shoulders, a deep chest and powerful thighs and calves. As she'd surreptitiously eyed his trim waist, she was sure that if he took his jersey off she'd see the ripped abs that come with a lot of quality time in the weight room. His arms were iron–hard through the biceps, tapering all the way down to strong wrists and hands. Every inch of Jake Miller spoke of strength and power.

But what got to her even more than his ultra–masculine body was his handsome, open face. His blond hair, thick and stylishly cut, was a bit longer than most players. Up close, he had deep blue eyes that gleamed with humor and intelligence. His mouth, set above a chiseled jaw line, had lines around it that told her he smiled a lot. And his voice—deep and smooth as honey, was a naturally sexy one that gave a girl a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.

That voice had been her downfall. It had persuaded her to throw her innate caution to the winds and agree to his crazy plan. She knew what that dinner invitation was about, too. Jake had been coming on to her, even though he'd done his best to pretend he wasn't.

Still mentally kicking herself as she took her place in the press box, Maddie gave the other media types a desultory greeting before sticking her nose into her laptop computer. Staring at the screen, she saw nothing and did nothing. She simply couldn't believe she'd agreed to something so dangerous and stupid—something that could even sidetrack her career if the Patriots found out and decided to come down heavy on her. If there was one thing Media Affairs staff hated more than anything else, it was losing control of the players' contact with reporters. If she and Jake were caught, would the team pressure the paper to pull her from the Patriots beat? Maddie had a lot of faith in her boss, Martin James, but was sure the Patriots had more clout with the top brass at the Post than she could even imagine.

God, she could even see herself being relegated to covering high school sports again. Friday Night Lights—she'd had enough of that to last a lifetime.

That can't happen.

She couldn't see any way out of the potential catastrophe except to call Jake's room and leave a message calling the encounter off. Resolving to do just that, she retrieved her phone from her bag. But as soon as the hotel operator connected, asking her for the room number of the guest she wished to talk to, Maddie hung up. She cast a quick glance around the press box. Fortunately, no one seemed to be paying her any attention. She blew out a sigh and slumped back in her seat, staring blindly out at the field. Maybe she was just being paranoid. After all, the chances of getting found out were minimal if they followed the plan Miller had concocted. And even if someone saw them and ratted them out, there was no guarantee the team would do anything more than give her a verbal dressing down. If she could hold any potential damage to that level, the story would be well worth it.

An exclusive, intimate interview with Jake Miller, as he returned to the bigs? Media gold by anybody's standard.

The rest of Maddie's afternoon passed in a mental fog as her mind oscillated between wanting to cancel dinner and wanting to damn the torpedoes and do the interview. The only time she found it easy to focus on the game was when Miller was up to bat or making a play in the field. Then, her attention seemed to narrow on him with laser–like intensity as she absorbed every move he made. Even when he was struck out by a Padres' reliever in the eighth inning, Maddie thought he looked better fanning than a lot of players looked getting a hit. That, of course, simply illustrated the complete deterioration of her mental faculties under the onslaught of Miller's charm offensive.

By the time she got back to her room that evening, Maddie had pretty much given up on cancelling dinner. She knew it would be safer in terms of her career if she insisted that the interview be at the park. But the safe course wasn't always the best course, a lesson she'd been trying to learn for years. If she could pull this interview off, there was a very good chance she could take her career to a different level, and solidify her position at the paper.

As she lay in bed, exhausted but too restless to sleep, she tried to make her decision based on a hard–nosed risk assessment. But she was kidding herself, and she knew it. Career advancement aside, one of the sexiest bachelors in baseball had made his interest in her crystal clear. And "interest" was a polite way of putting it—the man wanted to spend time with her, and he'd come up with an almost irresistible carrot to dangle as bait.

But why the heck was he hitting on her in the first place? Maddie knew she wasn't a hag, but she'd always classed her looks as nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly, she in no way resembled the leggy models and perfect ten actresses most of the players had on their arms. Jake Miller was one of the best–looking guys on the team, right up there with Nate Carter as a sexy heartthrob. Women were lining up to date him—gorgeous women who could and would happily give Miller absolutely anything he wanted.

So, what in God's name had he seen in her? As Maddie finally drifted off to sleep, the answer continued to elude her, but she knew she had to find out.