Curveball (13 page)

“Cashmere DuMont.”

“The exotic dancer from Peek-A-Boobs?”

“She looks as good in clothes as she does without.”

Jen rolled her eyes. “I thought you were looking for someone special.”

Chaser chose his words carefully. “I’m on the lookout. When I find my special woman, I’ll focus fully on her.”

“Until then?”

“I need a date when we double,” he explained. “Otherwise I’m a third wheel.”

She nodded. “Saturday night, we’ll celebrate your return to baseball.”

“Come Sunday, the Bat Pack’s going to kick some Yankee ass.”

Seated on a blanket in Centennial Park, Jen looked at Mike Sutton, who was sprawled out beside her fast asleep. His soft snores rose with the smooth jazz that electified the night air. How could anyone sleep through such phenomenal sound?

She cut a glance to the blanket next to hers. Less than five feet away, Chaser reclined against a tree in his burgundy-and-blue-striped shirt and jeans, looking relaxed and as attentive to his date as he was to the music.

Unexpected jealousy sliced through Jen as the exotic dancer snuggled against her best friend. Cashmere’s clingy little red dress outlined every attribute. And there were many. Full breasts, tiny waist, stilettos to show off her tight calves.

The exotic dancer touched Chaser with the intimacy of a woman who knew his body. Cashmere’s whispers annoyed Jen as much as his responsive smiles. Her neighbor was enjoying himself. Too damn much.

Jen looked at the sky. Dusk cast fiery pinks and fuschias around the setting sun. She sighed. Whatever had possessed her to go on another double date when all she wanted was to be alone with Chaser? Watching him and his double-D date stole all her enjoyment from the open-air festival.

She straightened her black Moroccan skirt. The sequins, seed beads, and tiny mirrors reflected the onset of night. Her heart charm ankle bracelet had been a high school graduation present from Chaser. Her strappy black sandals a gift to herself just last week.

She rolled her shoulders beneath her silk blouse in Tuscan gold. She toyed with the black opal pendant that hung between her breasts. Feeling Chaser’s eyes on her, she looked up. Found his gaze locked on her cleavage.

She lowered her hand, and his gaze lifted. He nodded toward her date. “Music put the man to sleep?”

She shrugged, forced a smile. “That, or his inability to sell me a new car.”

“You
need
a new car.”

“The El Camino only has two hundred thousand miles.”

“It’s time, Jen,” he said gently. “New car, new kitchen, new man in your life.”

The car and kitchen would prove hard decisions. The man she’d already chosen. She wanted Chase Tallan. The thought jarred her. So much so, her surprised expression drew his attention.

“You okay?” Chaser asked.

Words failed her. She could only nod. Returning to the music, she let the jazz play over her. Richie Cole’s “There Will Never Be Another You” both soothed and inspired. She would agree to no more double dates.

Three hours of jazz, and Jen felt rejuvenated. Mike Sutton, on the other hand, was deep in his dreams. He also moaned a lot in his sleep. Some moans low, others guttural. The name “Kayla” escaped his lips more than once.

Jen poked his shoulder on the last note of the night. Sutton woke with tented khakis and a sheepish smile.

Picking up their blankets, the foursome headed toward Chaser’s car. It took nearly an hour to clear the parking lot. When Chaser wanted to call it a night, Jen and Mike readily agreed. Only Cashmere pouted.

Once parked in his driveway, Chaser hinted, “I’m tasting German chocolate cake.”

Jen cut him a look. “Thought you were tired.”

“Never too tired for cake.”

She invited him into her kitchen, where she served up thick slices of cake and poured tall glasses of milk.

“Your mother loves me.” Chaser grinned between forkfuls of cake. “She baked my favorite.”

“Only because I agreed,” Jen retorted, wiping the grin from his face. “I could have pushed for angel food.”

“You gave in?”

“Just this once.”

“That means you love me too.”

“Not as much as my mother,” she lied.

Chaser’s next big bite left frosting at one corner of his mouth. Without thinking, Jen grabbed a paper napkin and went to wipe his lip.

Unplanned, yet perfectly timed, his tongue darted out and swept two of her fingertips. She dropped the napkin, and time came to a standstill. His gaze locked on her, his debate with himself apparent.

Jen didn’t press or hold back. She merely looked into his eyes, seeing that the ice blue was charged with both constraint and need.

His need won out. Their breathing slowed, shallow and intimate, as he swirled his tongue over her fingertip, then fully sucked her finger into his mouth.

Sensations fluttered in her belly, both erotic and electric. The nip and pull of his lips drew images of what his mouth could do to other parts of her body. Her nipples hardened.

She could pull her finger away at any time. Yet the heat of his mouth, the moistness of his tongue, held her motionless.

Her heart quickened when he placed a kiss on her open palm, then bit the sensitive skin at the underside of her wrist. Her pulse visibly jumped.

Jen forced herself to breathe. More slowly. More evenly. The task was nearly impossible.

“Does my daughter taste as good as my German chocolate cake?”

Katherine Reid’s question startled Jen so much,
she nearly fell off her chair. She’d been so focused on Chaser, she hadn’t heard her mother’s approach. Katherine stood in the doorway now, a curious expression on her face. How much had she witnessed?

Chaser didn’t seem the least bit fazed. He slowly released her hand, started to explain, “Chocolate on my—”

“His mouth,” Jen cut in.

“—needed a napkin,” from Chaser.

“My finger touched his lip—” Jen felt as if she were twelve, with her hand caught in the cookie jar. Or in this case, Chaser’s mouth.

Katherine put them at ease. “You’re adults. I’ve no need for explanations.” She covered her mouth, softly yawned. “I was reading, heard Chaser’s car pull up, and came down to check on Jen. How was your date?”

“Bored,” Jen replied. “He slept through the jazz festival.”

“Your date?” Katherine asked Chaser.

“Cashmere was more into Chaser than the jazz,” Jen answered for him.

“How would you know that?” her mother asked.

“Jen can’t keep her eyes off me,” Chaser teased.

His words were too on target to be funny. Jen’s blush made her cheeks hot. “Egotistical man. I don’t watch you.”

Katherine shook her head. “Children, behave. I’m off to bed.” She looked at Jen. “Turn off the kitchen lights when you’re done eating cake. And, Chaser, good luck tomorrow. Beat the Yankees.”

“We have every intention of winning,” Chaser assured Katherine.

As soon as her mother left, Jen lowered her gaze to her hand. The hand that Chaser had kissed and tongued. She could still feel his mouth on her fingers. The hot tingle in her palm might never go away.

“About our next double date.” Chaser pushed his plate aside and rested his elbows on the table. “I’m thinking—”

“Don’t think.” She held up her hand, met his gaze squarely. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but no more setups.”

Chaser winced. “They’ve been that bad?”

“I’m not looking for love,” she tried to explain. “If it comes my way, that makes it twice as special.”

“We can still hang out?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“I just sucked your fingers.”

He’d definitely turned her on. “A spontaneous suck, nothing for the scrapbook.”

His ice-blue eyes narrowed. “I can do scrapbook.”

She was certain he could.

“I’ve been waiting to do scrapbook for four weeks now,” he stated. “Ever since our kiss at the ballpark.”

“It wasn’t a
real
kiss.” She needed to keep things light. “It was an accident.”

“Then I need to make it real.”

A kiss to make a memory.

He moved slowly, yet with purpose, tugging
her chair forward, and sliding his denim knee between her skirted thighs. His touch was strong, yet gentle, as he smoothed his hand into her hair. His breath blew warm against her cheek, her ear, when he bent to kiss her forehead.

The scrub of his stubble against her cheek drew attention to his maleness. Chaser shaved twice a day and still had whiskers. Fascinated by her mouth, he traced her lips with his thumb. Over and over his thumb brushed, until she parted her lips and flicked her tongue.

His pupils dilated, and his desire embraced her.

She’d never been as aware of a man as she was of Chase Tallan. Her neighbor and best friend. And a man about to kiss her.
Really
kiss her.

The kiss would have consequences, she knew. Consequences to her heart. Her anticipation escaped on a sigh as his mouth hovered over hers. It was her last chance to escape to safety. She wasn’t running.

The first touch of his lips marked her forever. She wanted no other man but him. There was history in their kiss. A lifetime of friendship and compassion and…something deeper, not yet ready to surface.

His lips were strong, his hand firm at the back of her neck. From soft and playful nips, their kiss quickly escalated to a full-fledged mating of tongues. He tasted of chocolate and delicious man.

He pulled her closer. To the edge of her chair. The abrasive rub of his denim knee against her sensitive inner thigh sent goose bumps all over
her body. She curled her fingers over his shoulders, felt heat and contoured muscle beneath his linen shirt.

With utmost intent and care, he ran his fingers down her neck, over her breast to her belly. Her heart was pounding so fast she felt light-headed. Her palms grew as damp as her panties.

The scrape of a chair leg as he hauled her across his lap reminded her that they sat in her mother’s kitchen. With the lights on and the refrigerator humming. The chance that Katherine Reid might return for a glass of water was a distinct possibility.

Jen didn’t want her mother to find her with her skirt hiked, riding Chaser’s thighs.

“No sliding home,” she breathed against his mouth.

He took a deep, calming breath and brought a halt to what could have gone on all night. “Come home with me.” His dark, sexy whisper caressed her neck.

Her stomach fluttered at his words. And her heart smiled. His house was right next door. “You’ve never fooled around on the night before a game.”

“Old rule, new woman.” He raised his hips against her bottom. The full press of his erection was long and hard. “For you, I’d make an exception.”

“We’ve waited thirty-two years. One more day won’t matter.”

“Matters to me.”

She slipped off his lap, stood, her knees weak. “Take matters into your own hands. Cold shower, soap—”

Chaser shook his head. “Heartless woman.”

He rose then, turned and adjusted himself. His expression was pained. “I’ll find you after the game.”

“You find me and I’m yours.”

He gave her one final kiss, with enough tongue to tease her into following him through the hollyhocks and into his house.

With a ragged sigh, she resisted.

As midnight draped her bed in shadow, Jen hoped Chaser was getting more sleep than she was. She’d gone from counting sheep to naming them as she waited for the sandman.

Sleep or no sleep, Chaser was wired to play ball.

It was a home game, and as the players were introduced, he allowed the applause and roar of the crowd to claim him. He belonged to the fans who spent a big chunk of their paychecks on seats at James River Stadium. He wouldn’t disappoint them again. He’d never sit out another game for fighting.

“Pitcher’s so freakin’ tall it appears he’s releasing the ball right in front of the batter,” Psycho commented as the team sat in the dugout and watched Yankees right-hander Roger Cooke pitch from the mound. “The man should be playing basketball.”

At six foot nine and topping two hundred sixty
pounds, Cooke looked like a mountain on a molehill as he warmed up.

“Change in the lineup,” batting coach Wayne Sanders shouted down the bench. The man was as old as baseball, with a weathered face and a fanatical loyalty to the sport. “Risk Kincaid’s on deck, followed by Driscoll, Dunn, Black, Lawless, Bellisaro, McMillan, Tallan, Collier.”

Chaser’s gut cramped. The Bat Pack had led the lineup for five years. They’d scored more base hits and home runs from the leadoff positions than any players in the league. Yet their suspension had dropped them to the bottom of the order. Chaser sat one slot above the pitcher.

“Further payback for our suspension?” Psycho voiced what Chaser had been thinking.

“You’ve worked out, practiced, and traveled with the team, yet you haven’t played for thirteen games,” Sanders stated. “You want leadoff, earn it.”

Psycho swore.

Romeo shook his head.

And Chaser swallowed his disappointment.

At one fifteen, following the singing of the National Anthem, the Rogues took the field against the Yankees.

Game on.

It was a volatile eight innings. Each team flexed its muscle. Offensively, Psycho took chances. He hit strong line drives. Once on first, he took long leads and stole second. He slid headfirst into third so many times, Chaser swore he must be brain-damaged.

Defensively, Psycho hit the warning track at an all-out run. He leapt and caught fly balls that should have been fan souvenirs.

Romeo played all out as well. He caught ground balls that hopped and should have shot past him. At bat, he connected for a triple, which brought two teammates home.

Behind home plate, Chaser caught a major popup that ended the eighth inning. With the score tied 3-3, they headed into the top of the ninth. And managed to keep the Yankees from scoring.

The crowd was on its feet. They shouted for that one run that would lift the Rogues to two wins. Batters started at the bottom of the order. James Lawless, Romeo Bellisaro, and Psycho McMillan.

Chaser sat with his head in his hands as Lawless struck out. One down. He didn’t want the game to go into overtime. He wanted it to end with this inning.

“Don’t go for the wall,” Psycho told Romeo as Psycho switched brands of bubble gum. He chewed Dubble Bubble at bat and Bazooka in the outfield. “Get on base. Chaser and I will bring you home.”

Chaser caught the aggressive determination in Psycho’s eyes. That wild-ass look that won ball games.

For a heartbeat, he wondered if Jen had caught any of the game. She worked her tail off in the concession stands, but he knew she kept a small television plugged in near the snow-cone machine to track the score.