Break Away (The Baltimore Banners Book 5)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  So no, Emily couldn't hit him. She couldn't even move away from him. The tournament was being held in the arena used by one of the minor league teams, so they were actually in seats instead of sitting on cold metal bleachers. Granted, the seats were old wooden ones and not very comfortable, but they made it impossible for Emily to slide away, to put more space between them. She had already moved twice but JP had followed her each time.

  And so did his teammates.

  The best Emily could do was ignore him. Them. But it was getting harder to do.

  Like right now. Instead of watching the game, JP was sitting sideways, facing her, his hand dangerously close to her arm as he leaned toward her. She could feel the heat of his body, could see the frustration on his face from the corner of her eye.

  "I truly am sorry, my Emilie."

  She clenched her jaw tight, doing her best to ignore the unwanted spark that flashed inside her when he slipped into the French pronunciation of her name. His accent had become thicker in the past hour, something that used to happen when he was upset or excited in the past. Damn, why did she remember that? She shouldn't be remembering.

  "Stop." Emily forced the word through her clenched teeth, making it sound more like a hiss than anything else. But he either didn't hear her, or chose to ignore her, because he leaned even closer, his hand finally resting on her arm.

  "I acted like a connard. Like a...a fils de pute, a salaud last night. I was wrong.

  I should not have said what I did."

  "Why did you say it? What gave you the right to even suggest I would abandon my niece?" Damn, she hadn't meant to say anything, had only wanted to keep ignoring him. But the words had tumbled out before she could stop them, the need to know stronger than her need to remain quiet.

  JP slid his hand along her arm, down to her own hand. Before she could react, he threaded his fingers with hers and squeezed. But he didn't release her hand, not even when she tried to tug it from his grasp.

  "I was upset."

  "Really? I couldn't tell." Emily thought she heard choked laughter from someone in front of them but when she looked down, all three men seemed to be completely focused on the game. She narrowed her eyes at their backs and thought about saying something, then decided against it.

  "I wanted to surprise you and—"

  "Yeah, you did that."

  JP kept talking, as if she hadn't even spoken. "And I was upset when you weren't here. When Taylor told me you went with...with that branleur, I was unhappy."

  "Unhappy?"

  "I don't like the way he looks at you. Like you are dessert and he is a starving man."

  It took her a second to figure out what JP was saying. When she did, she wasn't sure whether to laugh at the ridiculousness of his words, or to hit him. "You have got to be kidding me."

  JP watched her for a long second, his eyes narrowed, a flush spreading across his cheeks. Then he let loose a string of French so fast that she didn't understand it. Or rather, most of it. The few words she did pick up were ones that shouldn't be repeated in mixed company.

  He finally stopped, his soft lips parted with each heavy breath, his brown eyes dark and intense as he watched her. Emily felt like she was losing herself in his gaze, falling with no chance of a soft landing, falling with no chance of surviving.

  Her own breathing became heavy, like the air around them was suddenly suffocating, oppressing. She licked her lips and tried to look away but she couldn't. JP's dark gaze held hers, intense, smoldering, demanding.

  Emily pulled air into her burning lungs, finally breaking the spell of JP's gaze. She looked around, wondering if anyone else had seen what just happened. But nobody was paying them any attention and she wondered if maybe she had imagined it.

  She shifted in the hard wooden seat then risked a glance back at JP. He was still watching her, but his eyes had lost that dark intensity. Maybe she had imagined it. The one thing she didn't imagine was his rant. It didn't matter that she didn't understand the words—the tone of his voice and his expression had said enough.

  "Number one, Karl is married—"

  "Oh, and married men are blind now?"

  "And is very much in love with his wife. Who is in the Army. Overseas." Emily leaned closer, her teeth clenched. "In Afghanistan. We talked about her, and their son, who also misses her."

  At least JP had enough sense to look contrite. He leaned back, his gaze dropping to their clasped hands as a pale flush tinged his cheeks. Emily tried pulling her hand from his once more but he only tightened his grasp.

  "Number two. It is none of your business who I am with, or who I see. You do not have that right."

  "Merde." JP sighed and ran his free hand through his already mussed hair. He shifted and looked, suddenly interested in whatever was happening around them. His discomfort was obvious and if Emily still wasn't so upset, she'd probably take greater pleasure in it.

  "And number three—"

  "What if I want that right?"

  "What?"

  JP leaned forward, his mouth dangerously close to hers. She leaned back but not far enough, hampered by the arm of the chair. And she was suddenly certain that she could run to the other side of the arena and it still wouldn't be far enough.

  "What if I want—"

  "I heard you the first time." Oh God, was he serious? Was he actually trying to get back together? He couldn't be. She had to be imagining it. Why? After all this time? After everything that had happened between them? Why? She wasn't his type, not any more, probably not ever. Damn her heart for speeding up, damn the jolt of excitement that made her pulse soar. No. He couldn't be serious. She couldn't let herself believe it. She had to focus on something else, had to steer the conversation away from whatever he might be thinking.

  "Emily—"

  "And number three: how dare you accuse me of abandoning Taylor? Who do you think you are, telling me what I should—"

  "I was wrong. I'm sorry."

  "Dammit JP. Stop!" Emily finally yanked her hand from his and folded her arms across her chest. She didn't miss the shock that crossed his face and filled his eyes. Emily might swear when she was thinking, but she rarely cursed out loud. "You can't just keep showing up like this, acting like nothing happened. I don't know what you want, I don't know how to act around you. Not anymore."

  JP stiffened, his entire body still. With a heavy sigh he finally turned in the seat, his shoulders slumping. "Forgive me."

  "JP. Jean-Pierre..." Emily let her voice drift off, not sure what to think, let alone what to say. She didn't know who JP was any longer. She wasn't even sure she knew who she was.

  And what did she want? If JP got up and left now, and she never saw him again, would she regret it? The tightness that squeezed her chest at the thought told her she would. But how could she even think about opening herself to him once more? After what had happened? They were two different people now. Especially JP.

  She wouldn't admit it, but she had occasionally looked him up, tried to follow his career. He wasn't a saint. She doubted he had ever been one, not really, but some of the stories she had read, the pictures she had seen. No, he definitely wasn't a saint. Could she willingly open herself to him again? Take a chance? It had taken her so long to get over what happened the last time. Not just the miscarriage. But the feeling of being abandoned, rejected. How could she willingly take the risk of living through that pain again, knowing that this time it could be worse?

  Because it would be. Much worse. There was no doubt about that.

  But what if she didn't take the chance? What would she be missing out on if she didn't?

  She was afraid of the answer.

  Emily squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath, trying to drown out the noise around them, trying to think, to listen. To feel.

  "What do you want from me, JP?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, her question unanswered for so long she thought he didn't hear her. Then a warm hand, large and calloused, closed over hers and gently squ
eezed.

  "Dinner. Go to dinner with me."

  She opened her eyes and looked at him, surprised at the soft request. JP watched her, his deep eyes drawing her in. There was no teasing, no laughter, in his gaze. Just need. And hesitation, doubt.

  "Just dinner? That's it?"

  "It is a start, non?"

  "Why? I don't understand, JP. Why now? After everything that's happened?"

  "Because I want—" he paused, squeezed her hand, took a deep breath. "Because I think there is still something between us."

  The breath left Emily's lungs in a rush, the last gasp catching in her throat. She suddenly felt dizzy, lightheaded. Had she heard him right? Or were the words merely her imagination, an auditory hallucination of what she wanted to hear? JP was watching her, his eyes concerned. He reached out with one hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear then ran the tips of his fingers along her jaw, his touch lingering for a long moment.

  "Emilie?"

  She blinked, swallowed, tried to catch her bearings. Everything seemed off-balance, the world spinning. She blinked once more and waited for the spinning to stop. Then she looked at JP again, her eyes meeting his. "What?"

  "Will you have dinner with me?"

  "Wh—" She cleared her throat and willed her voice to work. "When?"

  "Friday night?"

  "We have a game Friday night." The voice came from two rows down, pitched in a loud whisper that carried back to them. JP scowled, then looked back at her.

  "Saturday night."

  "We have a game Saturday night too."

  "Thursday and Sunday are open, though."

  Emily had to bite back her laugh, especially when JP turned in his seat and threw something at the trio in front of them, muttering something in French. The scowl remained on his face when he turned back to her.

  "Les imbéciles. All three of them." The scowl slowly disappeared, replaced by the barest smile. "Emily, will you have dinner with me? On Thursday. Or Sunday."

  She should say no. Despite the amusing byplay, despite the slight lessening of the tension, she should still say no. To say yes was taking a risk, opening herself up to this man again, more than she wanted.

  But a small voice inside her was screaming at her, telling her to say yes. It was only dinner, nothing else. And if she didn't say yes, how would she know, one way or the other? It was only dinner.

  She took a deep breath and slowly nodded. "Okay. Dinner."

  The smile grew on JP's face, bigger and brighter, lighting his eyes and chasing away shadows she hadn't even realized were there. He tightened his hand around hers then leaned forward and pressed his mouth against hers. The kiss was warm, sweet. Lingering but gone too soon. JP smiled again then turned in his seat, his hand still folded around hers.

  And Emily sat there, stunned. Had she really said yes? She had. And she was glad she did. The feeling that she had made the right decision stayed with her throughout the day, as they sat there watching each of Taylor's games, holding hands throughout each one.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Rumbling twisted his gut, the pain dull and consistent. It had nothing to do with hunger. Just like his sweaty palms had nothing to do with illness.

  At least, not a normal hunger or illness.

  JP fisted his hand and pushed it against his stomach, willing the nervousness to disappear. There was no need for him to be nervous. The emotion was ridiculous, completely uncalled for.

  Completely alien. He didn't get nervous, not before a date.

  He never had dates. At least, not real ones. Not dates where he went to the woman's house and picked her up, took her to dinner. And tried not to think of what would come later.

  He winced at the poor choice of words and quickly banished the thought. That wasn't the way he wanted tonight to start, with him already thinking of how he wanted the night to end.

  Neither would happen if he didn't force his feet to move, to walk to the front door.

  JP glanced down at himself, suddenly self-conscious. Was the suit too much? Would Emily think he was trying too hard? Had she ever really seen him dressed up before, like this?

  Doubt crept over him and he pushed it away. The past didn't matter, not tonight. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself. And he knew he looked good. Hell, the way he was dressed tonight, he could give that New York goalie a run for his money.

  Enough procrastinating.

  JP rolled his neck and took a deep breath, then marched up the walkway with a confidence he didn't quite feel. He rang the bell and waited, trying to ignore the inner voice that kept whispering doubt.

  What if Emily changed her mind? What if she decided to cancel at the last minute? What if she forgot?

  "Parfait imbécile." The muttered curse left his mouth as soon as the door opened and he worried that Emily may have heard him. Then he looked up and all of his worries fled, along with his ability to speak.

  Beautiful. Stunning. No, even those words failed to do justice to the woman standing in front of him.

  Her hair was swept to the side and fell past her shoulders in soft waves that caught the light. Spun gold, JP thought, wondering if she would think it strange if he reached out and let the strands fall through his fingers. He forced his eyes from her hair, his gaze traveling slowly over her.

  The black dress she wore clung to her curves, the sleeves nothing more than thick scraps of material that bared her creamy shoulders. The material looped downward, forming a twisted knot at the center of her chest, exposing a hint of cleavage that made his mouth go dry. JP blinked, his gaze following the soft folds of material past her waist. The hem whirled around her legs, falling just above her knees.

  Her legs were bare, all smooth creamy skin that he longed to touch, to feel. He swallowed when his gaze dropped to her shoes, delicate creations of black leather set on heels at least four inches high.

  JP reversed his gaze, slowly, drinking in each detail until he finally met her eyes. Shadows lingered in their deep blue depths as she watched him and he realized she was unsure, waiting for him to say something.

  "C'est magnifique." He cleared his throat and tried to smile. "You're beautiful, mon rêve."

  A hesitant smile lifted one corner of her full mouth. The shadows fled from her eyes and she stepped back, silently inviting him inside. He started to move past her then remembered the gift in his hand. Feeling like an idiot, he thrust the flowers out to her, the move so fast that she stumbled back and caught herself by grabbing onto the edge of the door.

  "Merde." He grabbed her elbow with his freehand, supporting her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

  "No. It was me." Emily straightened and gave him a small smile. "The shoes. I'm not...the heels are a little high."

  JP didn't know how to respond, except for asking why she was wearing them if they were too high. But then she was taking the flowers from him, leaning down to breathe in their scent, and he forgot to say anything.

  She moved through the living room, the hem of her dress swirling around her, the material playing peekaboo with the smooth flesh of her legs. Should he follow her, or stay where he was? He wasn't sure, didn't want to look too eager or too pushy.

  And then it didn't matter, because she was walking toward him, a small smile teasing her mouth. Teasing him. She grabbed what looked like a ball of black material and shook it, then tossed it around her in a gently fluid movement. The material seemed to float in the air around her for a second before settling over her shoulders. "Are you ready?"

  "Hm? Oh. Yes." He opened the door and gestured for her to go in front of him, then pulled the door closed and caught up to her on the walkway. Without thinking, he caught her hand in his then brought it to his arm, resting it in the crook of his elbow. The touch heated his flesh through the barriers of shirt and jacket, making him pause. If Emily noticed, she didn't say anything.

  Until they reached his car.

  She hesitated, her eyes widening in surprise as he opened the door for her. "I th
ink I'm afraid to get in this."

  He looked at her, then at the Bugatti Veyron, then back at her. "Why?"

  "Because. I mean, this is a..." Emily looked back at the car, her voice trailing off. A small frown creased her face and she tried to take a step back. "What if I spill something?"

  JP had no idea what she was talking about, especially since she didn't have anything in her hands to spill. But he didn't bother telling her that, just shrugged and held the door open. "So? Wouldn't be the first time."

  Emily gave him a weird look, one he couldn't quite interpret, then slowly lowered herself into the leather seat. The hem of her dress pulled higher around her thighs, treating him to a large expanse of creamy skin. He groaned when she tugged the material down and tucked it around her legs. She looked up at him, giving him another small smile before he closed the door and rushed around to the driver's side.

  He started the engine and backed out of the parking space as Emily looked around her in curiosity. Heat coiled inside him when she stroked the leather of the seat, when her fingers gently, almost reverently, traced a path along the dash.

  Fuck. Was he suddenly jealous of his car?

  He shook his head and eased the car out of the neighborhood, heading toward the highway that would take them downtown, and searched his mind for something to say. "I, uh, didn't see Taylor."

  "Hm?" Emily stopped studying the interior of the car long enough to look over at him. "Monica took her to practice."

  "Oh. I didn't think—"

  "I thought you had an SUV."

  "A Range Rover, yes." JP glanced at her, wondering at the odd turn in conversation. But she was hardly paying him any attention because she was looking around the car again, her eyes sparkling as her hand stroked the dash, the center console. Her fingers slid down, coming close to his leg, and his breath left him in a hiss.

  There it was again, the brief spurt of insane jealousy. Why was Emily stroking his car? If she wanted to stroke something—