A Very Daring Christmas (The Tavonesi Series Book 8) (9 page)

Perhaps because he felt her hesitation, Jake drew his brows together. “We don’t have to go closer if you don’t want to,” he said.

She took in a breath and watched for half a minute. The photographers were training their cameras on the surfers.

“Let’s go in—they aren’t tabloid shooters. These guys seem cool.”

She let go of his hand to dig the pass Cory had sent her out of her back pocket. She flashed it, and the security guys let them into the tent.

She scanned the scene. Surfboards lined the tent, and men in board shorts and rash guards talked around a table spread with snacks and beverages. “I don’t see my friend.”

“There’s a board here with the heats listed,” Jake pointed out. Of course he’d know how to scope out the rudiments of the sport, figure out how scores were kept. “What’s his name?”

“Cory Brandon.”

Jake ran his finger along the names on the board. “Cory Brandon’s already run. Top score. He won’t have to ride again until tomorrow.”

“Maybe he’s around. He’s seeded to win this.” But when she asked after Cory, it turned out he was off-site for a charity gig in the city.

“I love the buzz in here,” Cameron said, referring to the mixture of accents and languages among the waiting contestants.

“Yup, pregame buzz. Best next to game buzz, but not as good as win buzz.”

And she’d have to be dead not to notice the sensual beauty of suntanned skin over hard-planed muscle and the variations in the surfers’ bodies. Jake was taller by a head than most of the men in the tent, but these men had bodies trained and toned to take on the ocean.

“Yo!” said a guy with an Australian accent as he approached them. “Dev Merchado,” the man said, offering his hand to Jake. “Saw you play in the World Series last year. Awesome game. You here to see us ride the heat?”

“Thanks.” Jake nodded to Cameron. “My friend knows one of the leaders.”

He’d avoided using her name. She loved him for it.

“I’m up in ten minutes,” Dev said, pointing to the board. “I intend to win this bugger,” he added with a laugh. “No aspersion on your friend. Who is your friend, by the way?”

“Cory Brandon,” Cameron said, grateful that the surfer was treating her like any other fan there to see the contest.

Dev gave a low whistle. “He’s the one to beat—best on the circuit. No one’s beat him since he went vegan. I’m thinking of taking up a nuts-and-berries diet if it’ll give me an edge.”

Jake laughed. “Guys on the team swear by kale smoothies.”

“Not sure I can go
that
far.” Dev chuckled. “But I am going to consider meeting you today as my good luck charm.” He held his hand out to Cameron. “And you too. Any friend of Cory’s is a friend of mine.” He picked up a sleek board leaning against a table. “Show time. You two can watch from the judges stand if you’d like. Use this pass.” He grabbed a blue lariat from a bag on the floor and handed it to Jake.

They followed Dev out of the tent into blazing sunshine. The photographers trailed Dev like a flock of hungry geese. Cameron envied his easy way with them. But unlike paparazzi, these shooters were asking questions about the wave conditions, about strategy.

“Maybe I should take up surfing,” Jake said. “The surfing press is so much more laid-back than the sports press.”

Instinctively she scanned the area. No one was coming at her. No one was focused on her. “I hope you never get a taste of the tabloid maniacs.” She breathed a sigh. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you’re way too tall to surf.”

“Is that a dare, Miss Kelley?”

The challenging look in his eyes and his flashing grin set the butterflies in her belly leaping all over again. Jake Ryder was a fire that she shouldn’t be toying with. Her heart wasn’t even close to healing from her last foolish choice.

“I never dare people. Never.”

He guided her to a spot near the edge of the platform with a great view of the ocean. “Can’t take the heat?”

Heat. He had no idea the effect he had on her. Or did he?

“People should think through important moves in their lives, not react to impulse.” As she spoke, an impish grin lifted the corners of his mouth. She didn’t need his smile to tell her that she sounded like a schoolteacher.

“In that case, start thinking through coming with me to El Segundo club tomorrow night.” He leaned a shoulder against the pole supporting the side of the judges stand. “I like dancing with you.”

The loudspeaker blared out Dev Merchado’s name. She snapped her eyes to the ocean and watched Dev paddle through crashing waves. She felt Jake’s eyes on her. And felt the wave of want nearly swamp her good sense.

Cameron raised the binoculars and trained them on Dev. He caught a well-formed wave, riding the power of the water and disappearing in a tube of blue. The crowd went wild when he popped out, spun his board and cut a path up the face of the wave. The judges scribbled madly on their score sheets.

Jake nudged her playfully with his elbow. “There’s a salsa lesson just before the main band comes on. Think about it.”

And she decided that there couldn’t be anything wrong with a night of dancing with Jake. Dancing was exercise, after all. And goodness knows she needed more. And it wasn’t like she was planning to hop into bed with him.

Chapter Seven

Jake drove into a scrabble-filled lot and headed down the lane his GPS indicated, toward a rather dilapidated-looking warehouse. If it hadn’t been for the lines of cars already parked there, he’d have thought his phone had steered him wrong.

He cursed under his breath. Aderro had told him to check out the club, that it was a hot LA scene. But he should’ve checked it out better before inviting Cameron there. This wasn’t a part of town for her to be navigating alone. But she’d been as bullheaded about bringing her own car and meeting him at the club as he’d been about insisting she let him give her a ride.

He parked close to the lot entrance so he’d see her right off when she arrived. The lively rhythm of a Latin beat sounded as he stepped out of his rental car. He scanned the lot. Several couples dressed to kill were making their way to the door. Maybe the place wasn’t as dicey as his first impression had signaled. But even so, he leaned against his car and crossed his arms. He’d wait until she arrived. See her inside. Southern manners and growing up with a beautiful—and
way
too trusting sister—had run deep tracks in him.

Not even five minutes passed before her nondescript white SUV nosed into the lot and headed straight for him. Instinct had him jumping to alert. And Cameron’s smile as she lowered the tinted window had his pulse firing to match his adrenaline level.

“You the greeting committee?”

“Making sure no riffraff get inside,” he said.

She smiled. “Then I’d better head back home.”

He opened her door and offered his hand to help her from the car.

She looked up at him from under her dark lashes. “Well, aren’t you the consummate gentleman?”

If she knew what he really wanted to consummate, she wouldn’t think him a gentleman. But wasn’t that what they called restraint? When you wanted something so bad but listened to your higher self and did the right thing instead?

Dancing. They were going dancing. When he’d called that morning, she’d made it quite clear that dancing was all she was interested in doing. Sure, she’d done it subtly. But her message had come across loud and clear.

Dancing was as good an activity as any to kick off a date. And where would it lead? Well, he was a gambler, even though he’d sworn he would give up the games in the new year.

But as Cameron slid her legs around to exit the SUV, he got a very good look at the short knit dress that hugged her every curve. He wasn’t so sure he was interested in what his higher self had to say anymore.

He took her by the elbow. “Watch the ruts,” he cautioned.

“Flats, Jake. No worries.”

She leaned back into the car to reach for something. Was she
trying
to kill him? The zigzag pattern of the tight dress hugged her in ways he wanted to. She had the curviest ass he’d ever laid eyes on. She swung around, brandishing a black bag.

“My dancing shoes.” She looked down at his tennis shoes. “Those won’t do—dance shoes only at this place, they have some sort of precious dance floor. I checked the website. But you can dance in your socks.”

The image of him padding about a dance floor in his socks made him laugh. “Only if you promise not to step on my toes.”

She grinned. Not a Hollywood smile, but a genuine grin. Cameron Kelley was a far more complex woman than what she tried to present to the world at large. He was still struggling—as he had been since yesterday—to make sense of the strange feeling that had crept into him when he’d seen her sitting on the blanket with Brody and wrestling to comfort the boy and the puppy. And when she’d said what she had about her family, though he was sure she tried to hide it, he’d heard the pain hidden under her words. He suspected that beneath the carefully constructed persona she showed to the world lurked a fragile vulnerability. He knew about feeling vulnerable. He’d worked hard to navigate away from any situation that called up the unwelcome feeling. And after he’d recognized the susceptibility in her, some of his own defenses had melted away. He’d begun to trust her in spite of himself.

Trust
. Funny, he trusted teammates, friends, family. But he hadn’t let a woman in in years. Not since Scarlett Lee. Maybe some pain ran deeper than the desire to heal it. Maybe it took a woman like Cameron to show him that he might, just might, be up for stepping onto a path he’d sworn was off-limits.

He might’ve teased her about owing him one, but the truth was,
he
owed
her
. Being around her had lit him up in places he would’ve shined a light on long ago if only he’d known they existed. Made him feel alive. For too long a big gambling win or connecting to a fastball and watching it sail over the stadium wall had been the only life events that even came close to the wake-up call of Cameron Kelley.

And though he might have to kiss goodbye his usual dating pattern of having sex with an interested woman after a second date, he sure as hell was going to enjoy getting to know her.

He crooked his arm, and she looped hers through it.

“I never make promises I can’t keep,” she said.

“Pardon?” He’d been lost in his searching thoughts. Not something he was used to. Usually his world was pretty straightforward.

“I can’t promise not to step on your sock-clad toes,” she said with a laugh. She peered up at him. “You seem miles away.”

He also wasn’t used to being so easily read. His poker face served him at the gambling tables and at the plate. Even the most seasoned pitchers couldn’t read him.

“I’m very much here,” he said as they made their way to the door of the club. Hell, he was present in a way that wasn’t familiar at all. He’d once read that there was a quantum particle that could be seen only when it moved, because then it left everything changed in its wake. Being around Cameron had the same effect on him. Hell, maybe she had that effect on everybody.

The uniformed bouncer at the door put a hand up to stop them. He patted Jake down, looking for weapons.

“Usual procedure,” the man said as he insisted on searching the bag holding Cameron’s dancing shoes and then inspected her purse.

Cameron didn’t flinch. But Jake was beginning to have misgivings. He should’ve asked Aderro a few more questions. But Aderro had had an emergency with one of the boys at his camp that had pulled him off the phone.

“I love this!” Cameron said over the throbbing beat of the Latin music. “I’ll use that bench to change my shoes.”

Her dress hiked up three inches when she sat on the bench. Determined not to stare at her unbelievably gorgeous legs, Jake scanned the club.

Food and drink stations lined the side walls, each lit with different-colored lights. Couples swayed and swerved on the wooden dance floor. A ten-piece band played on the stage, lights flashed as the dancers moved to the steady beat, and everywhere he looked, people were smiling or laughing or telegraphing looks of pleasure.

Even in his best jeans and a linen button-down, he was underdressed. The men sported form-fitting shirts—some wore tailored jackets—and all wore highly polished shoes. And the women? Satin- and Lycra-covered curves and bodies moving in ways he’d seen only in movies. The place oozed sensuality. Hummed with heat. He’d known his Latino teammates had favorite haunts, but if he’d known how lively their clubs were, he’d have checked one out long before this.

“Time for the socks,” she said, patting the spot beside her on the bench. “And maybe some food. This place smells delicious. How did you ever discover this club?”

Delicious was the perfect word for the joyous smile she cast his way. Very delicious. It took all his will not to lean over and kiss her.

“Aderro’s brother-in-law is part owner.”

“Ah, Aderro. Is there anything the man doesn’t have a hand in?”

“Rubber-duck racing?”

She laughed. He liked making her laugh.

Jake toed off his tennis shoes. And swore under his breath that he wasn’t going to be embarrassed about being the only guy on the dance floor wearing only socks. But the needling flash of shame reminded him that the humiliation visited on him for growing up on the wrong side of the tracks had never left his blood. Maybe it never would.

Cameron smiled and stretched her legs out in front of her. “I admire Aderro so much for his work in Dominia. Is he here?”

“He had work to finish up down there, with the kids. He’ll be back in the States in time to spend the holidays with his family.”

Jake didn’t want to revisit the sore spot Cameron had roused in Dominia. But if he were honest, seeing the bateyes had opened his eyes.
Cameron
had opened his eyes. He might not be able to solve a basic problem like making drinking water safe, but he could offer opportunity. Opportunity had saved his ass, had given him the joy of living a dream. Sure, he’d fought to make it to the majors, worked hard, stayed focused. But he’d had to have the chance in the first place. Just that morning he’d sent another check off to Aderro with the stipulation that the money be used to fund the participation of a few batey kids in the Superplayer camps.