by L. B. Dunbar
Staring down at her, I scoff. “At liberty? What does that mean?”
I shouldn’t trust her. She was trying to steal that ring, yet when I reflect on it, she didn’t try to run with the ring on, and of all the things in the bureau, the antiquated jewelry has the least monetary value. I had it out to get it cleaned for Lucy.
“It means I’m not telling you, and I already apologized for being in your room and trying on the ring.”
“Yes, but why were you in my room in the first place?”
Her bright eyes drift to the side, and her pouty lips curl inward. “I’m…I’m not at liberty to tell you that either.”
I snort, but for some reason, the counsel rests on this question for the moment.
“What about running away from me?” My smile curls, hoping to convey I’m teasing her, but her eyes shift, darkening the green from grass to pine.
“I’ll never apologize for running, sir.”
Sir? Don’t call me that. Now another body part is twitching, and it wants under that skirt. My mouth waters, and I lick my lips. Her eyes trail the motion, and I wonder if she feels a pull to me like I do her. It was there before. In my bedroom. In my bathroom. Beside the pool.
Has she stepped closer to me? My suit pants will do nothing to contain the developments happening within.
“Are we finished here?”
When I step back, waving a hand for her to leave, I realize how close we stood. My front feels cold with her absence, and my dick still stands at attention, longing for relief. It’s been a long time since a woman has had this kind of effect on me. Since the divorce, I’ve had a couple of one-night stands, but no one I would trust near Lucy.
I watch the sway of her ass as she slips through the two pocket doors that disappear into the wall. When she turns to slide them back in place for privacy, her eyes find mine, and we stare at one another. I’m reminded of those smoldering moments in movies when the elevator doors are about to close and all will be lost.
“Mr. Harrington,” she states.
“Jan.”
+ + +
“Tell me again how she got the interview?” I ask of Charity, my loyal assistant of ten years. Her father is a powerful man as the local judge, and he’s the one who recently put the bug in my ear about running for Congress.
Charity sighs. She’s a pretty woman with brunette hair and blue eyes, but nothing that has ever tempted me. We’ve worked side by side as professionals for a decade, and I’m reminded of the adage about work wives. Charity is mine. I’ve spent more time with her than I did with Angela my entire marriage.
“Your mother.” She smiles with a shake of her head, understanding the relentless pressure of Elaina Harrington. “She got Gretchen to give the woman a shot.”
“What’s this business about an address?” For some reason, I’m worried we’re interested in a homeless woman. Not that the woods around us don’t cater to a few homeless camps, but I can’t hire a woman living out of a car. Then again, this could be the break this woman needs. How did my Rosa get ahold of Jan for the playdate with Lucy and Vega? Jan refused to give me her phone number. Does she even have a phone?
Things about our secretive applicant aren’t adding up, and I’m back to wondering if I should trust her. But for some reason, I want to pull her into my arms and let her know she’s safe here. Then again, the things I want to do to her body as well as my suggestion to join me in bed don’t scream safety.
I’m an idiot.
5
Baseball under the Lights
[Janessa]
I’m not surprised when I don’t hear from the council after a few days and decide I’m desperate enough to apply for a job at the local diner—Wine&Dine. The old diner has a new interior, or so I’ve learned, and it reminds me of a roaring twenties dining car on a train.
“I’m here about the help wanted,” I say to a buxom blonde in a waitress outfit.
“The application’s online.” She speaks proudly. “We’re doing things differently nowadays.” Her eyes sparkle like she knows a secret or she’s smarter than me. Both might be the case, but she smiles warmly and holds out a thin hand. “I’m Hollilyn. Hollilyn Harrington.”
“You ain’t a Harrington yet,” an older gentleman sitting at the counter remarks, and Hollilyn turns on him.
“You mind your own business, Jerry Stunner.”
Jerry what? The name does not fit the portly man who narrows his eyes at Hollilyn.
“Well, when’s he going to marry you then?”
Tension swirls between them, and I’d think I’m witnessing a lover’s quarrel if it weren’t that Jerry looks about fifty and Hollilyn looks like she wants to kick his ass.
“He’ll marry me when he’s ready,” she says, placing her hands on her hips, and Jerry huffs.
“Wonder if it’ll happen before he gets you pregnant again,” Jerry mutters not so subtly under his breath, and Hollilyn turns away from him, crossing her arms.
“Don’t pay him any mind. He’s crotchety because he can’t get laid even by his wife.”
“I get laid just fine, thank you,” Jerry states a little too loudly for the crowd within the diner, and another man who looks like a rock star interjects.
“Jerry, let’s keep your sex life to yourself, okay? Hollilyn, help this woman.” He smiles at me, and I almost fall over. Charm is written all over him. What’s with the men in this town? Then I look back at Jerry and find some normalcy. Not everyone is breathtaking.
“Anywho, if you go to our website.” Hollilyn pauses to hand me a menu and point out the site name on the bottom of the card. “There’s an application. What’s your name? I’ll look for it.”
“Jan,” I say, getting used to calling myself by such a name. “Jan Cruz.”
“Got any experience being a waitress?”
“Does working in a bar in college count?” I sheepishly offer. The last time I waited tables was over twenty years ago, and it wasn’t food I was serving.
“Sure does.” She smiles, and I take the menu she offers. “Good luck.”
“You won’t need it,” Jerry interjects. “No one wants to work with this sourpuss. You’ll get the job.”
“Oh, Jerry, you just shush,” Hollilyn says to him, waving a menu in his face, and he smiles despite the insults he’s been slinging at her. Hollilyn winks at me, and it seems like a friendly enough place to work, but I really want the Parks and Recreation job instead.
+ + +
It’s dark by the time I head home, and the quiet and bleak drive up the mountain matches how I feel. I need to work, and I need to earn money. I can’t keep living off my parents’ generosity, and the weight of their hospitality presses on me. Their home is not what Vega is used to, but she’s been a good sport about it. It was difficult to leave behind her friends and our house, but she understands. She was a witness to the life her father led.
After I park my father’s truck in the drive and walk toward the house, I see lights shining over a row of bushes that mark the edge of the yard. The hedge stands taller than my head, but the illumination is too bright and too close to the coach house.
What the heck?
Circling the dense bushes, which my father purposely keeps tall and wide, I walk a short concrete path to find a tennis court. The lights in question are a string of outdoor Edison bulbs lining each side of the tall chain-link fence. Only the person inside the fence is swinging at baseballs, not playing late-night tennis.
I watch for a moment as Charlie tosses a ball in the air and then swings a wooden bat, the crack so familiar. The ball soars a short distance, colliding with the fence on the opposite side. I take in his stance and the curve of his backside. He has a nice backside in loose athletic shorts. He’s wearing a snug gray T-shirt with a trickle of sweat down the back. A baseball cap on his head backward tops off the look, and my eyes are looking.
“That’s one interesting batting cage,” I say, unable to help myself, and then I freeze.
&nb
sp; Shit.
I’ve just exposed myself.
Charlie quickly turns to face me, his eyes wide. Then he shakes his head.
“Good God, you’ve gone from thieving to stalking.” He laughs after he speaks, resting the bat on his shoulder.
“I’m not stalking,” I snark.
“No, just wandering around my property in the dark.”
I can’t explain where I was really going, so I tease, “Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?”
“That’s a terrible pickup line,” he says with another chuckle in that deep tone he has.
“I’m not trying to pick you up,” I snap.
“Oh, then what are you doing here?”
“I’m staying nearby, and I saw the lights.”
His brows lift. “Another pickup line and a lie.”
I’m actually not lying for maybe the first time since I’ve met him, but he doesn’t need to know the truth. He doesn’t believe me, and he has no reason to, either.
“Are you a friend of Cora’s?” he suggests, mentioning the woman who owns the house next to his. Mountain Spring Lane is unique in that it’s a gravel road with only three antebellum homes on it. The Harringtons, this Harrington—Charlie as he lives in the town-sanctioned mayor’s house—and the Conrads. A river runs behind the three homes, and the road dead-ends on the other side of Cora Conrad’s house. I don’t know Cora Conrad personally, but Charlie doesn’t need to know that yet.
“Sure,” I say, not denying or confirming anything about Cora.
Charlie stares back at me for a long minute, and my palms sweat as my fingers curl into the steel fencing. I’m not certain if I’m holding on for dear life or holding myself back because for some reason, I want to run to him. I’m that girl on the sidelines ready to tackle her man when he scores the home run to win the game, and I want to do him on the pitching mound. Only there’s no mound here, not even a field. It’s only a makeshift batting cage.
“Get in here,” Charlie demands, and my eyes narrow.
“Excuse me?”
“Come on in here. Do you know how to hit a ball?”
“I might know a thing or two,” I mock, entering the fenced area. Charlie watches me walk and notices my shoes dangling from my fingers.
“Rough day?” His voice softens as his brows pinch in question.
“Just long.” I sigh. I’ve literally been up and down this mountain applying for jobs, and it’s made me edgy. I don’t want my name out there in too many places.
“Can I help?” he offers with a weak smile. He knows I don’t want any favors, and I definitely don’t want his pity.
“Just let me bat. I feel like I could beat the hell out of a ball,” I tease. I could use a few swings, though it’s been a while. “You don’t strike me as a baseball player. More like a golf man.”
Charlie tips his head. “I play golf, too, but why don’t I seem like a baseball guy?”
“You’ve got the whole uptight suit thing going,” I tell him although he looks good in a suit. Darn good. This baseball getup he’s wearing works, too, though. His athletic build proves he takes care of his body but isn’t a freak about working out.
“Uptight, huh?” he questions, his lips twisting as though I’ve struck a nerve with him. He shakes his head and glances at me. “I played baseball in college.”
Charlie tosses me a ball which I catch overhand, and his brows lift, impressed with my skill. Then he hands me the bat. Stepping out of my way, I do my best to hitch the ball into the air and then swing. The ball falls to the ground at my feet, and the bat pitches me forward. I’m out of practice.
Charlie steps up behind me. Without asking permission, he wraps his arms around mine. “You need to choke up a little.” His warm hands cover mine and tug my hands farther up the bat, giving me better leverage on it. He pauses behind me as my backside sticks out, and I bend my knees in a batting stance. He hisses as I accidentally nudge his front.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter, but I don’t straighten. Charlie steps away, and once again, I toss a ball upward, swing, and miss. I’m normally better than this, but his presence behind me is distracting. He’s still too close, and I can feel his eyes roaming along my spine and over the curve of my ass. Just to taunt him, I bend forward, giving him the full view of my backside as I pick up the ball at my feet. I slowly lift, practically rolling the baseball up my leg, and then I snap upward, tossing my hair and looking at him over my shoulder.
“Was that just the bend and snap?”
My mouth falls open. “You know Legally Blonde?”
“I have a ten-year-old daughter.”
“And you let her watch that?”
“Her mother did. She called it a study in how not to get a job in the legal system.”
I turn to face him. Oh my God. I swear my mother told me he was divorced.
“Your wife did that?” I ask.
“Ex-wife and yes, she did. And you didn’t answer my question.” His arms are crossed over his chest, but he leans one forward and twirls his finger at me.
“I did not just bend and snap for your pleasure, sir,” I state, and his eyes narrow, the dark color darkening.
“I’d like to bend and snap you for my pleasure,” he says, and I stare at him. He did not just say that. He did not just insinuate, once again, that he’d like to do something to me, something sexual, something pleasurable, something I might enjoy myself.
Shit. I don’t need this. Not now. Not him.
Charlie hangs his head and scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for again.”
“It was,” I retort, haughty and hurt, but only because I haven’t been bent over and snapped in so long, I’ve forgotten what it feels like. Just as I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be desired by a man, really desired. Charlie has that spark in his eyes like he wants something from me, something I haven’t given away for a while.
I turn from him, toss the ball in the air, and nail it into the fence at the opposite end of the court.
“I take it you might have done that before,” he teases, the tension around us releasing a bit.
“High school all-star and state champion softball player in my junior year,” I proudly say and then realize I’ve said too much. I spin to face him and his widened eyes.
“And that high school was where?”
I drop the bat and stalk to the entrance. “Thanks for the swings,” I mutter. I’m not answering his questions, no personal sharing, but he cuts me off before I reach the gate opening.
“Okay, I’m sorry again. No prying tonight. Forget I asked.” He holds up his hands as if to stop me, as if surrendering. “Take a few more hits with me,” he suggests after a couple of seconds, and I acquiesce, holding batting practice with the mayor on the edge of his backyard in the dark.
I don’t know how long we’re out here, but I’m thankful we don’t speak much other than to talk technique or baseball jargon. It’s still a risky topic. If he turned to professional teams and discussing his favorite players, I’d have to walk away again. Thankfully, he doesn’t because I’ve enjoyed myself. For the first time in a long time, I’ve had fun.
“I should probably be going,” I eventually say as a sheen of sweat graces my brow, and I’ve already tucked my hair up into a band to keep it off my neck. Fine hairs still fall loose at the nape and curl in the Georgia summer heat. It’s a nice night, but I’m warm, and it’s getting late.
“Yeah, I need to get up early myself. I just needed the stress relief.”
“Lots of pressure being a small-town mayor?” I mock.
“You’d have no idea,” he mutters, and I feel guilty for picking on him and his community.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice of me to insinuate your job is small potatoes, or that this town is for that fact.”
Charlie laughs again. “I’m not offended.” He picks up the loose balls, then settles the bat and balls inside the bat bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Let me
walk you to Cora’s. It’s dark out here.”
“It’s not that dark,” I say, implying the brightness of these lights. Can my parents see us? Do these lights shine into the house? This court is closer than I thought to their home.
Charlie stops near the entrance and reaches for a switch in a metal box. Flipping it down, he turns the lights off with a click, submerging us in darkness. We hold still a second as our eyes adjust. The black settles around us as the song of the crickets increases in volume.
“What was that about darkness?” Charlie teases. I chuckle nervously, and he flips the switch again, the lights rushing back on. “Shit. I’m sorry again. I’m freaking you out, aren’t I?”
My heart races, and my blood pumps, but I’m not as afraid as he might think. I’m turned on. Conscious of his nearness, the hint of sweat combined with the physical exertion has my body humming as I stand close to him, not aware that I stepped up to him when he shut off the lights.
“Jan?” he whispers, looking back at me, and I lick my lips. This is dangerous. I’m alone with a man when I haven’t been alone with anyone in months. He reaches out for my arm, the touch meant to be reassuring, but my skin prickles the same as it does each time he touches me. I lick my lips again, and his eyes follow the trace of my tongue. He groans, and I don’t know who moves first.
But suddenly his mouth is on mine, and my arms are around his neck.
The bat bag falls off his shoulders, clanging against the concrete court, then his arms circle my back.
Our mouths move like starved people, hungry for a taste of something they haven’t ever had. Our teeth knock together.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter at his lips, trying to pull myself back.
“Don’t be,” he says, still holding me to him and backing me up to the fence. His mouth crashes to mine again, and he reaches over for the light switch.
Click.
It’s the crack of a bat. The sound of a gun. The start of a race.
Hands roam. Fingers squeeze.
He fumbles with my hair. I tug at his shirt.
He reaches for a breast. I grab at his dick.
