by Jill Shalvis
Someone threw the ball into play again, and Kevin caught it just as a player from the opposite team body-slammed into him.
They both crashed to the ground.
Mia held her breath. Kevin rolled to his knees and got up, offering a hand to the kid who’d knocked him on his ass.
The kid took his hand, stood.
They eyed each other.
Then grinned like idiots.
Kevin ruffled the kid’s hair, then waggled a finger in his face. “Flagrant.”
“Bull-fucking-shit!”
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
The kid grinned again. “Not flagrant, dude.”
“I’m taking a foul shot. Dudette.” Dribbling, Kevin moved to the foul line.
There was just something about his easy rhythmic movements that utterly captivated Mia. He looked down at the ball, then up at the basket, a line of sweat running down his temple, his shirt sticking to him like a second skin.
He made the shot, and the roughhouse game continued.
Mia had no idea how long she stood there captivated, entranced, watching Kevin move on the court with the grace and ease of a cat, but for the life of her, she couldn’t walk away. Someone blocked his next shot, but he got the rebound and went up again, taking an elbow to the cheek but making his shot. His team cheered as he came down on both feet. When the other team tossed the ball in, Kevin again snatched it away, then fired the ball to a member of his team. It was immediately passed back to him. Someone tried to take the ball away, but he simply moved faster, his face tightening into an expression that said Back off, sucker.
When he got into the key, he passed the ball to his brother in a bulletlike throw, and the shot was made.
“Yeeees!” Kevin said, looking extremely satisfied.
Whooping and high-fiving ensued, and some manly butt-slapping, leaving Mia to assume game over, victory declared.
Kevin grabbed the ball and executed some sort of victory dance, and deep within Mia something quivered. Oh, damn. Oh, damn, this was bad, bad, bad.
Despite his easygoing demeanor, he was a fellow hard-core competitor.
How sexy was that?
Kevin swiped a towel over his face. His shirt was stuck to him, his arms and throat gleaming. He had a bruise gathering beneath one eye and a cut on his lip. And he was smiling, as if he’d just had the time of his life. His brother nudged his shoulder, and they began a conversation.
With their hands.
The brother was deaf. No big deal, but the sight of them, eloquently and easily signing, felt addicting. Even knowing she was invading their privacy, Mia stood there transfixed by their quickly moving hands, their fast smiles, the easy affection…
Then Kevin brushed his hand over his brother’s hair, messing it up, rubbing his knuckles over his head in the affectionate age-old noogie.
The brother tossed back his head, his mouth carved in a laughing smile, then pushed away and walked off. Kevin watched him go, his smile fading, replaced by an expression of worry and concern.
Mia’s smile faded, too, and she wondered what she’d missed.
Then suddenly Kevin turned his head and saw her. The hand holding the towel dropped to his side. His worry and concern faded, replaced by an expression she was fairly certain could be read as annoyance.
She would have winced, but she preferred not to show her hand, that being she felt something almost foreign—true regret at how she’d treated him this morning. But if she didn’t like to repeat men, she really didn’t like looking back, and so she turned away, moving up the sidewalk toward her house.
The evening had begun to cool. She couldn’t believe nearly half an hour had passed since she’d parked, she’d gotten so lost in their game.
“Running. What a surprise,” he said.
Slowly she turned back to face the low, husky voice she knew so intimately, thanks to last night. Kevin must have hustled to catch up with her, and yet he wasn’t even breathing hard. “I’m not running,” she said.
“Yeah, you are. Well, as much as you can in those ridiculous shoes, anyway.”
She looked down at her favorite heels. “Ridiculous?”
“What’s the hurry? Your cookies burning?”
No, but, oddly enough, now her face was.
“You didn’t really make them, did you?”
“I never claimed I did.”
“It was implied. Among other things.”
“Like what?”
“Like—” But suddenly his eyes narrowed and he took a step closer to her, frowning as he lifted a hand and touched her singed eyebrow. “What happened?”
She fought the urge to slap his hand away. “Nothing an eyebrow pencil won’t fix.” Turning away, she began to walk again, only to feel his fingers wrap around her arm and gently but firmly pull her back.
He peered into her face, so close now that she could see his eyes were more than light chocolate, but lined in dark as well, with specks of gold dancing in them. “Stop staring,” she said and lifted a hand to cover her brow.
He simply took her wrist in his hand and held it out. “You’re burned. What did you do, catch yourself with a whatcha-call-it, a curling iron?”
“It’s nothing.”
His other hand came up and gently probed at the sensitive skin, making her hiss. His eyes cut to hers. “Nothing, huh?”
Her belly quivered. Hunger, she decided, but, damn it, deep down she knew it was his touch. He was waking up her body again, making it remember how wonderful and amazing and shockingly perfect last night had been. Trying to cover this unwelcome reaction to him, she shoved his hand away. “Just a…work incident.” No big deal. She’d laughed it off countless times today with all the others at work, despite deep down remaining off balance about the “suspicious” incident.
But having this man look at her with concern darkening his eyes had an effect she couldn’t have possibly imagined: the odd urge to set her head down on someone’s shoulder, someone who cared about her, someone who would tell her she was going to be okay.
Only she’d never had the luxury of someone else’s shoulder in her entire life, and she wasn’t going to start now.
“A work incident?” That frown still marred his lips. “I thought you were some PR wizard.”
That almost made her smile. “Advertising.”
“You kick some ass today, Mia Appleby, advertising exec extraordinaire?”
“You know it.” She cocked her head and studied him, blackening eye, cut lip, and all. “You’re looking a little worse for wear yourself.”
“Nah.” He pulled a face, then swore and lifted a hand to his lip. “Shit.”
“Uh huh. You need help cleaning that up?”
He was now gingerly touching the blooming bruise, licking his cut lip. “No, thanks. I’m still bleeding from our last encounter.”
“Suit yourself.” She began to back away but couldn’t resist running her gaze over his face one last time. No, you can’t have him again. “You might want to give yourself a break from basketball for a day or so.”
“Are you kidding?” His eyes lit. “We won.”
Her heart squeezed with competitive spirit. With lust. And more. She’d have to make sure to avoid the basketball courts. The entire street.
And especially his bedroom.
He touched his lip again, looked at the blood on his fingers, and shook his head. “I’m losing my touch.”
Now that he was most definitely not doing, but before her thoughts could take her there she firmly walked away.
“See ya,” he said, only slightly mockingly. “Or if you get your way, not.”
That’s right. They would not be seeing each other. Keep walking. She managed it, too, and only when she’d taken the turn on the path, did she glance back.
He was gone.
Good. Perfect. Mission accomplished. She’d distanced herself from him both physically and mentally.
Only, oddly enough, the surge of victory neve
r came.
Hope couldn’t believe how insanely people drove in California, but finally she found Mia’s street. The block was nice, and there was not a trailer park within miles, she’d bet.
Mia’s place was Spanish style, with a ceramic-tile roof and stucco walls. It was barely dusk, but streetlights flickered on and so did some house lights around her. Even with the dark clouds overhead, the neighborhood felt warm and friendly. Pretty.
Classy, too.
There was an outdoor basketball court at the end of the street, and beyond that a small green area and tiny park with a set of swings and a slide and a few benches. And beyond that, woods, lots and lots of woods.
She got out of her car, and her heart knocking against her ribs again, she knocked.
Thunder cracked, making her jerk. She knocked again.
But no one answered, and as the sun began to dip into the sky her aloneness settled into her gut, along with the realization that she had no money and nowhere else to go.
Inside her house, Mia let out a long breath and moved through the wide space. Her own haven. In her bedroom she removed all her protective layers—her Michael Kors, her Prada, her makeup—and when she was stripped bare, she showered.
And then, not looking at her missing eyebrow or the angry red welt/burn above it, she wrapped herself in her French silk robe and padded barefoot through the living room to stand in front of her huge picture windows. The storm had moved in and rain slashed down with a soothing sound.
Her hair fell straight and wet to her shoulders, dripping into the silk and cooling her still-heated skin. Beneath her robe, her body seemed different.
Anticipatory. Hopeful. Tight and achy.
It made no sense. She’d gotten off just last night. And as Kevin knew what he was doing in that department, she’d have thought the effects would last her a while.
And yet, truthfully, it wasn’t mindless sex she yearned for…
But familiarity. Someone who knew her. Someone to smile at her and tell her she was fine.
Since that was a discomforting thought, she moved to her liquor cabinet and poured herself a glass of wine, trying not to think about Kevin at home right now, possibly also fresh from a shower, stretched out naked on his bed, big and lean and gorgeous. Sipping her drink, she moved through her living room, enjoying the smooth, shiny hardwood floors beneath her feet, the lovely silence.
The doorbell rang, shattering that silence, making her jump and nearly spill her wine. Then, before she could recover or even react, a heavy knock followed.
“Coming,” she muttered and moved toward the door. On tiptoes, she put her eye to the peephole, then went still.
Kevin stood there, his face very close to the opening as he waved.
She looked down at herself. Silk robe and nothing else. Bare feet. Wet hair.
No makeup.
She wished she’d taken a shot of whiskey instead of the glass of wine she still held, because her body wanted to let him in. Everywhere. Luckily, her brain held back. Good, brain. “I’m a little busy,” she said through the door.
“This isn’t about you, Mia. Open up. It’s raining like a mother.”
She took another peek. He’d stepped back a bit and was already drenched. He’d changed, too, into a pair of Levi’s and that leather jacket, and with the porch light glaring on his face, thrusting it into bold relief, she could see he had one hell of a shiner blooming along his right eye, and that that eye was no longer looking at her with heat and lust.
He’d been riding his bike.
He wasn’t alone, she saw now, but whoever was with him had their face averted.
In fact, it appeared that Kevin was gripping the back of that person’s jacket, holding them against their will.
What the hell?
She opened the door. Kevin was indeed holding on to the back of the person next to him, a small, thin teenage girl dressed in black from head to toe, with various studs and belts and chains. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Nothing much,” he said, tightening his grip when the Goth girl tried to sidestep away. “Just catching snoopy intruders in my bedroom. Listen, next time you want to spy on me, do it yourself, all right? She’s just a damn kid.”
The “damn kid” raised her face, which was pale and streaked with anger, sullenness, and undeniable humiliation. “I wasn’t spying for her!”
Mia took in more details. The teen had jet-black hair, the color that could have come only from a bottle, and a cheap one at that. It was long, hanging in her pasty white face. Her makeup consisted of thick black eyeliner and black gloss, both of which had run in the rain. She wore a myriad of silver hoops up one ear and a brow piercing. “I don’t know what this is about,” Mia said. “But I’m busy.”
“You’re going to want to hear this.” Kevin gently but firmly pushed the teen inside past Mia, following uninvited into her foyer.
Kevin let go of the girl, who crossed her arms over herself and hunched her bony shoulders, the two of them dripping on her floor. “Tell her,” he said to the teen, who rolled her lips inward. “Oh, now you go mum. Great. Nice.” His lip was a little puffy, and there was that bruise beneath his eye, and he looked like maybe he’d come to the end of his patience. “You’re done screaming holy murder then?”
“You grabbed me!”
“You were in my house. In my bedroom. Searching my drawers!”
Mia shook her head. “She was breaking and entering? Why didn’t you call the cops?”
Kevin sent her a scathing look. Nope, he was definitely done lusting after her. “You ever been to juvy, Mia? Not a friendly place. I just want to get to the bottom of this, and I want to get there now.”
“But I have no idea…” Mia started, breaking off when the teen let out a harsh laugh that might have doubled as a sob.
The girl stood there, skinny and scrawny and maybe all of sixteen, quivering in her black lace-up boots as the sound escaped her lips again. Confused, Mia turned to Kevin, whose eyes were downright chilly.
“Are you really that self-absorbed,” he asked, “that you don’t recognize your own niece?”
Chapter Five
Mia stared at Kevin as the words sank in, then turned back to the girl.
Much of the teen’s bravado had faded away. With the heavy black of her eyeliner and mascara smudged beneath her eyes and all that stringy black hair in her face, she looked like an Addams Family reunion reject. She was nibbling on a chipped black fingernail, already chewed to the nub.
“What’s your name?” Mia asked hoarsely.
The girl shrugged, and though she looked like a drowned rat, it did nothing to dispel the obvious fact that she had a major attitude.
Kevin divided a look between them, then turned to the teen. “So she didn’t know? She had no idea you were in my place?”
“Of course I didn’t—” Mia started, stopping in shock when he held up a hand in her face.
“I was talking to the kid,” he said.
Yeah, and he’d be talking to her fist, except…She stared at the girl. “Your name?”
Once again the girl pressed her lips together.
“Tell her,” Kevin said, nudging her, though doing so with a clear gentleness. He seemed so tall and big next to her, almost formidable, a definite contrast to the sexy lover and basketball player Mia had already seen.
The girl looked up at him, silently imploring.
“Tell her,” Kevin said again in that same infinitely patient but inexorable tone.
He had a voice on him—Mia would give him that—the kind that could coax the most saintly to sin, the law-abiding to throw caution to the wind, and a woman to forget her inhibitions. She thought of him teaching, talking to teenagers, and she had to admit, he could probably sell the most boring textbook ever written.
It certainly had sold her last night. One naughty, wicked word from those lips to her ears and she’d been gone.
The girl reacted by sidling slightly closer to him as she lo
oked at Mia. “Hope,” she whispered.
Mia leaned in. “You hope what?”
A glare was her only answer.
“Her name is Hope,” Kevin clarified.
And Mia froze. “Hope…Appleby?”
Her answer was the universal gaze teenagers all over the country had perfected, the one which said Fuck off and die, but before you do, please take care of me.
Oh, my God. Hope.
Sugar’s daughter.
To Mia’s shame, she’d never met her. Sugar had gotten pregnant the night of that long ago BBQ, and since Mia had never been back…
Another shame, but though she hadn’t planted herself there physically, she had done her best with letters and phone calls, not that that was enough.
Still, Mia had tried, sending checks, too, money that had surely gone toward barbeque wardrobes and tacky furnishings for the trailer, at least until her mother had died five years ago in a car accident.
After that, Mia still sent money, but Sugar hadn’t been as easy to keep in touch with. As she wasn’t much of a letter writer, either—and let’s face it, there hadn’t ever been much love between them—years had gone by without a word or thank-you. The only way Mia even knew Sugar received the money Mia sent was that the checks had always been immediately cashed.
Mia had done her best not to care, sending cards and checks directly to Hope as well, even though she’d never received an acknowledgement.
If asked, Mia would have said she hadn’t needed or wanted one. But to see the kid here, without warning…“My God. What’s going on?”
Another jerk of the shoulder.
Lost, Mia looked at Kevin. He shrugged, too.
Damn, she wished she’d downed her wine. She wanted to now but felt a little self-conscious doing so in front of a minor. “Hope.” Mia struggled with the words. Funny, that. She was known for being good in an emergency, for always knowing what to do or say, but for the first time in her life she felt clueless. “What are you doing here?”
