Twice in a Lifetime (Love Found) (5 page)

She pried one reluctant eyelid open. Reese could just wipe that smirk lurking across her lips. “Just muttering.” With a decisive thump she deposited her empty glass on the coffee table. “No, dammit. I’m mad! This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What wasn’t?”

“This is all your fault.”

Reese continued to shuffle papers, sorting them into piles. “Seriously, if you’re going to blame me for something, it’s only polite to tell me what it is.”

How could Reese stay so calm when gymnasts were practicing their floor exercises in her stomach? “Him.” She jerked her chin toward the cake plate. “It’s only been two weeks. Well, sixteen days actually, but we’ll call it two weeks to simplify things.”

“Ah, Ben. Now I understand.”

“Of course, Ben.” She picked up her empty glass and frowned into it. “We hardly spend any time together—and I should be okay with that—but I feel like something’s clutching at me–” She grabbed a fistful of the shirt covering her chest, “Right here. Just because he’s two states away.” With a sigh she frowned into her glass again, shoved the pile off her lap and pressed to her feet.

Reese finally looked up. “They’ll be home tomorrow. Bring me back some of that.”

“Snippets. That’s all the time we have together. Dammit, we barely even have time to grab a coffee.” She reached the kitchen and snatched a clean glass from the shelf, filled it along with her own. Tossed the empty bottle into the recycling. “Oh, excuse me. We also had lunch together, precisely twice.” It was tricky holding up two fingers along with the wine glasses, but she was determined. On tiptoe she navigated her way back through the minefield in the living room. “Sandwiches on the grass.”

“Better known as a picnic. It’s considered romantic.”

That smirk was back on Reese’s face again, damn her. She shoved the glass into her hand, then picked her way back to the couch and sank into it. She and Ben spent an afternoon sitting in the sun and talked about nothing—books, movies, professors they both liked—and hated. And they shared a few knee-weakening kisses. Her shoulders drooped. “Yeah, it kind of was.”

“Again, tomorrow.”

Her heart skittered so she scowled. “I don’t even want a boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t seem to matter, now. Does it?”

No, dammit, it didn’t seem to matter. “But I don’t want a boyfriend.”

“I say it’s too late, girlfriend. But maybe if you chant it three times and click your sparkly red heels, your wish will come true.”

With a few good swings, Ben tested the weight of the bat. He’d been hitting well since he got back in the lineup.

Jake sidled up to the nearby chain link. “You’re up first.”

“Yeah, I saw.” Members of the team milled around, cutting up before the game. With Jake bent over to tighten his cleats Ben lifted his gaze to scan the stands.

Jake straightened, bent a knee back and propped his foot against the fence. “They’re here. Sixth row.”

Ben scowled and spun back around to face the diamond. The opposing team was leaving the field. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Jake merely laughed and slapped him on the back. “Keep your head in the game, B.”

“Fuck you.” He waited until Jake got caught in conversation with the catcher, then turned back and found her. With a textbook open on her lap. His scowl settled into a frown. Why bother coming at all if she wasn’t planning to watch him play?

With the sun glaring in his eyes, he scanned the rest of the stands, found Vivian sitting beside some stranger. She was hot, always had been. She’d stirred his blood for a while, too. But today there was no leap, no rush—and it pissed him off. He swung his eyes back to Allie, chatting with Reese on the bleacher. His breath quickened. His fingers remembered the feel of her and prickled. He wanted to glide them across her skin again. Find that little mole on the back of her shoulder and run his fingers over it. Run them through her curls and mess them up.

“Twenty-two now, huh?”

“Jesus, Jake. Don’t you say hello?”

“Did. You were a million miles away.”

No, only as far as the sixth row. “Go away.”

But Jake merely picked up a bat, spun it like a top on his middle finger. “Heard you had a birthday party last night.

“No big deal. She baked me a cake.” Chocolate. And he licked frosting from her fingers. Made a wish after she lit the candles, too. Silent, bawdy, and—sigh—unfulfilled.

She stood over the cake, waving a knife. “Hey Ben, what size piece do you want?”

He ambled up behind her and drew to a stop. His hands meandered down her sides and didn’t stop until they reached her backside, where they gripped soft curves. “This big is perfect.”

“She’s waving at you.”

He turned his back, faced the field before Jake could give him shit for his smug smile. “They’re waving at
you
, moron.” The opposing team was taking the field again, ready for battle. It was time to get serious.

Preparing for his at-bat, he shoved a helmet onto his head, over hair that curled along his nape and defied the edge of the hard shell. His biceps bunched as he shifted the bat over his shoulder. He stepped up to the batter’s box and performed the same warm-up ritual he had since high school, stomping his left foot twice, pawing the dirt with his right, a bull preparing to charge. A couple of strong swings and he stepped to the plate, took his stance.

The pitcher wound up and released the ball. Low in the outside corner, coming fast. His pants snugged against his butt and thighs as he stepped into his swing. There was a loud crack as lumber connected with leather and he skied it, sending the ball flying over the left field fence, mere inches inside the foul pole. Fist pumping, he rounded the bases until he landed firmly on home plate, surrounded by teammates.

Hair damp, he stepped from the locker room. Allie waited for him, that riot of curls caught up in a stubby ponytail, her tank top neatly tucked into cut-offs. Not his type, but damn, she looked good. Was it because he hadn’t fucked her yet he was all tied up in knots?

“Reese and I came to watch you play.”

It was right to settle his arm across her shoulder. Natural. He led her toward her car. “Pretty good game.”

“Pretty good? You were sensational, Ben.”

Her enthusiastic smile was good for his ego. Loosened the ropes so he could breathe again. The scent in the air was pure Allie, fresh and sweet. He wanted to kiss her. Needed to taste those heart-shaped lips of hers. Glide his tongue across them until she opened up and he could slide it in and taste the honey inside. Long and slow and deep.

Jake cat-called from across the parking lot.

And somewhere private.

It was better he stick to the present, leave his fantasies for… later. He snagged her neck in the crook of his elbow and tugged until she bumped up against him. “Yeah, I did okay. Good thing we won. We needed that one.”

“You won? Oh, sure. Right. Of course you won.”

Allie, nervous? Imagine that. And damned if she didn’t turn an interesting shade of pink. Just how far into her blouse did her blush go?

“You guys were awesome.” She ducked out from under his arm as they approached her car. Her bright hazel eyes skittered between him and the ugly cracked blacktop.

What would she do if he kissed her—really laid one on her—right here?

She beeped her car unlocked.

Would she kiss him back, run her arms around his waist then up and over his shoulders? Lock them around his neck? Sink into him? Jesus, he was hard.

With a twist of her lush, rosy lips she turned away, reached out to open her car door.

Fuck it
. He yanked her to him, spun her around until her back flattened against the door. And plastered his lips to hers. With her jaw trapped in his shaking palms, he devoured her with his heart pounding in his chest and his ears buzzing with the rush of blood that surged through his system.

Or maybe that was the cheers going up around them.
Stupid jerks.

He closed his eyes against the brilliant afternoon sunshine, ran his tongue across the seam of her lips to urge her mouth open, and invaded her even as her arms wrapped around his waist. He found his hands loosened from her face and drawn down, down to the curve of her waist and his pulse ratcheted higher. When her arms slid up his chest and over his shoulders there was a groan—his– right before they entwined behind his neck. He shut out the jeering of his teammates and with bold persuasion wrestled her tongue with short jabs, made long sweeps across the smoothness of her teeth.

She wrenched her lips away, left him bereft as she swept them across his face, his neck, while her hands raced over him. Down his shoulders, teasing the muscles of his back. She fused her lips to his once again. Her hands tunneled through his hair. Gripped his shoulders. Circled his waist and held on.

He burned where she touched him.

His hands swept her sides, his lips brushed her cheek, her throat, nibbled at the pulse so visible there. Palms cruised over rough denim covering her hips, then up again over the ribbed cotton of her top. His thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts and there was a moan—hers. He would have offered anything to cover the bareness of them with his hands or—oh, God—his
mouth
, which was so close now.

He let his hands glide down again, back to her waist, to the place where ribbed knit tucked into denim and ripped it out until his fingertips found smooth skin.

And his knees grew weak.

Vehicles passed by. Honked. He pressed himself to her and sucked in air. Swept his hands down the length of her arms and back up again, caught her by the back of her head and nibbled greedily. Fulfilling his fantasy, he dug his fingers into her hair and popped the rubber band that held her curls hostage.

And finally, at long last, cradled her jaw is his palms as he gentled the kiss.

He reclaimed his tongue and brushed his lips over hers. Gently. Oh, so gently. Let them trail across her jaw to the smooth skin just beneath her ear. Propped his forehead against hers. And fought for breath.

Her chest heaved against his. Puffs of air gusted against his neck as she gasped. Her arms tightened around him, branded him.

He lifted his head. Her eyes were glassy, and as dark as storm clouds.

Whoa.

This—
he
—was out of control. He stumbled back a step. For years there’d been a parade of girls. Perky, sulky, witty, arrogant. Each beautiful, each different, each no more important than the last. Allie was just the next in line.

Wasn’t she?

A lifeline was what he needed. He planted a smirk on his lips, which still tingled from her kisses. “Yeah, I suppose I was good today.”

She was no longer breathless, and her eyes were lightened to pewter. “And you hit a home run.”

When her grin lit up her face his heart did a slow roll.

Shit.

He was sunk. Defenseless. Wave the white flag, beg for mercy. Allie was not the next in line.

She was the end of the line.

His eyelids drifted shut against a flash of green amusement and he prepared to surrender.

Hell, no. He snapped his eyes open again and studied her features. The features that belonged to the woman he…
loved
. If he did this, he was doing it right.

He pulled her back into his arms. Let his face soften, his gaze warm her until she melted into him. “A home run. Yeah, I guess I did.”

Standing in the meager light of a single fluorescent bulb, Allie shifted the brown paper bag and knocked. After six hours in the library her mind was mush. All she wanted was a glass of wine and a hot bath. Okay, two glasses of wine. But instead here she was, juggling the makings for spaghetti. And what did that say about her willpower?

She was pathetic, following Ben around like a little lost puppy. But somehow she couldn’t manage to stop. It was a battle she’d waged with herself for two weeks now, since that kiss in the parking lot. And every time he put his lips on hers her defenses grew weaker.

Oh, for Pete’s sake. Get a grip. She pounded harder, then tried the knob.

The chest she stumbled against as the door flew inward was muscular, golden—and bare. Her breath escaped in a whoosh. Her shoulders sizzled where his palms latched on to keep her upright.