by Pamela Aares
She’d never spent any time in the South, but Jake’s soft drawl crawled into her brain and then melted through her body like dew running down a flower petal.
“How about here?” He gestured to a spot about four hundred yards from the judges station, up against a cliff that shaded them from the sun. “We can walk over and catch the contest after we eat.”
“Perfect. I brought binoculars.”
He paused from shaking out the blanket. “Must be nice to use those yourself rather than having them trained on you.”
“You have no idea.”
“I might.” He spread out the blanket. “But it’s different. I don’t think baseball fans want a piece of me. They just want me to play like hell.”
A lone jogger ran by down at the tideline. Noise filtered from the north where a crowd gathered for the surf contest. Except for a couple with a young son and a puppy who had set up their blanket a bit farther up the beach, they had the small piece of heaven to themselves.
Jake began to empty the contents of the cooler onto the blanket. “Can’t say that this chicken is up to Southern standards, but it looked good enough.”
“I can’t believe you packed a picnic.”
The grin he shot her as he unloaded potato salad, a huge jug of lemonade and chocolate-chip cookies shouldn’t have taken her breath away.
“I’m told food speaks a universal language. Thought we could try it. I’ve never been great with words.”
Fighting to stay centered, she reached into the cooler and drew out a plastic container, opened the lid. “What’s this?”
The corner of his lips tipped up into a lopsided grin. “Fried okra, thanks to an Internet search and a very willing concierge. She gave me directions to a diner not five blocks from the hotel.”
Cameron took the plastic fork he held out and speared a bite. The crunchy texture followed by a delicate, moist center and a delicious burst of savory flavor was unlike anything she’d ever tasted.
“Ummm.”
“Appreciating the fine qualities of good Southern cooking is one way to my heart. Beware.”
“I’m taking a hiatus from making my way into anyone’s heart.” She loaded a couple of the golden-fried rounds onto the fork and held it out to him. “But if you can cook food like this, I might have to reconsider my long-term plan.”
“You’re safe then. I’ve been in San Francisco for over a year, and I haven’t even unpacked my kitchen.” He leaned forward, opened his lips and took the okra from the fork she offered.
For a moment she didn’t move. She wanted to taste those lips, to once again experience the sensual joy he’d ignited in her. When he’d kissed her in Dominia, the spark that he’d fired had lit her from the inside out, had soared through her body, bypassing her mind. His kisses had called her to travel the shining path into a world of sensual delight.
And that was the problem, that shining path. She didn’t trust it.
Finding her balance, she rocked back onto her heels.
“In fact,” he continued, “I can’t even seem to buy a head of lettuce without it molding in my icebox.”
“Icebox?”
He laughed. “Refrigerator. It still amazes me that within the same country there are such differences in language. I mean, where I grew up...” He focused on something over her shoulder, clearly distracted from their conversation. “What I mean is... you’d think—”
He jumped up, spilling the okra across the blanket. She’d never seen anyone move so fast.
Before she could turn completely around, he was at the tideline. He charged into the waves, shoes and all. In a split second he pulled a sputtering toddler out of the surf and tucked him into the crook of his arm. He leaned down and came up with a snorting puppy in the other hand. Cameron leaped to her feet and ran toward them.
Jake put his head to the toddler’s mouth, as if checking to make sure he was breathing. The boy choked back his sobs and smiled.
“This is my friend Cameron,” Jake said as she reached them. The puppy wriggled to lick the toddler’s face. Jake handed the boy to her. “Keep him occupied for a few minutes, okay? I have someone to chew out, and I’d rather not do it with him nearby.” He set the puppy down on the sand. “Can you handle both of them?”
The boy reached down toward the soggy brown puppy. “Taffy needs her ball,” he said in the chirpy voice of a toddler.
Cameron thanked the heavens that the kid had no concept of how close he and the puppy had come to perishing in the surf.
“I’ve got them,” she said, curving the child into her arms and lifting him. She had trouble herding the puppy with her voice and her feet and finally gave up and grabbed him with her other arm. Balancing the two squirming beings made walking difficult. When she reached the blanket, she sat the boy down beside her and then lowered herself and corralled the puppy between her legs.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jake approach the oblivious couple making out about thirty yards away from where she sat. How could they have ignored the child? Jake’s body language was all she needed to know that he was giving the mother, if it was the mother, a good dressing down. The man with the woman just crossed his arms and nodded. Smart man. No guy in his right mind would take on an enraged six-foot-four man built like Jake.
The puppy wriggled under her knees, and she shooed the little rascal away from the chicken with her foot.
“Do you have a ball?” the boy asked.
Cameron brushed his wet, sandy hair away from his eyes. “No ball, sorry. But I do happen to have a chocolate-chip cookie.”
Bribing children with sugar might earn her a spot in hell, but she’d have plenty of company if it did.
“What’s your name?”
“Brody. But I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers.”
At least the mother had some sense.
While Brody focused on the cookie, Cameron lifted the puppy into the crook of her arm and winced when he applied his razor-sharp teeth to her fingers. She shifted him against her waist, balancing him so that she could rise to her knees and put the picnic foods back in the cooler.
Jake dripped water onto the blanket when he dropped to his knees beside her. “There should be a certification program that everyone has to pass before becoming parents,” he growled.
“If that were true, I sure wouldn’t be here today,” Cameron said before thinking. It was true; her mother would’ve flunked Parenthood 101. Jake tilted his head, and she wished she hadn’t told such a truth, even in jest.
“That bad, huh?”
She nodded toward Brody. “At least his mother told him not to talk to strangers. His name’s Brody.”
Jake scooped up the puppy and then offered Brody his hand. “I’ll take him back now; I told his mother to stay put until I did. God knows I needed a few minutes to calm down. But you can bet I’ll make sure she got the message.”
“Can I have another cookie?” Brody held out his free hand. “And one for Taffy. She likes cookies. But she likes balls better.”
Brody wore the crumbs from the first cookie on his face, but Cameron reached into the package and gave him another. “Just one and only for you. Cookies aren’t good for dogs,” she said in her most mellow, instructive voice.
Jake reached into the package, took out a cookie, then bit into it and grinned. “But we like them, huh, sport?” He tugged on Brody’s hand. “Let’s get you back to your mom.”
The mother wasn’t as placid when Jake reached her blanket the second time. She shook her finger at Jake as if accusing him of ruining her day. Cameron’s breath hitched when the guy she was with—was he Brody’s father or just a boyfriend?—sprang to his feet. The woman grabbed Brody by the hand, scooped up the puppy and stormed up toward the boardwalk. The man offered his hand, and Jake shook it, but Cameron saw the tension in Jake’s back. Crisis avoided this time. But what if Jake hadn’t been paying attention?
The set of Jake’s jaw as he trudged through the sand told her that
he was worried for the boy.
“Want to check out the contest?” The hard edge in his tone didn’t match the tight-lipped smile pasted on his face.
“Want to talk about that?”
Jake shook his head. “Brody’s mother is one of those people who wouldn’t admit fault if Saint Peter rolled video footage and a soundtrack.”
Water dripped down his forehead, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “But I think she got the picture. And her boyfriend seemed to be a little clearer on the concept of danger. He knew the kid could’ve drowned.” He held out his hand and wriggled his fingers. “Surf contest?”
“You’re soaked.” She motioned toward his shoes and sopping wet pant legs. “And what about lunch? Protein?”
“Lunch will keep.”
He shucked off his wet running shoes and peeled off his sport socks. When he pulled his shirt over his head, she hoped the leap of her pulse didn’t register in her throat.
Maybe it was adrenaline from the near disaster he’d averted.
Right.
“This will dry.” He spread the shirt on the blanket. “Let’s head over. I need to walk off some steam.”
He unfolded from his crouch and stood above her. At the sight of perfectly tanned washboard abs and the fine line of hair running down and dipping below the buckle of his jeans, she flushed. Steam was exactly the right word for the sizzle bubbling in her veins.
“I know I said this before, but you’re good with kids.” It was the only image she could force into her mind to tamp down her racing impulses.
He tilted his head and gave her a look much like the puppy had as it had watched Brody bite into the cookie. A look that unless she was totally deluded had taste me written all over it. God, she’d never felt energy like this. Shiny man, shiny man. Very, very shiny man.
And real, too. Considerate. Maybe even responsible.
And if she didn’t get a grip, she was doomed. She already liked him way too much.
“Kids? I can’t even manage a dog.”
“Maybe you’re underestimating yourself.”
“I’m leaving the family gene-pool legacy up to my sister,” he said. “She’s suited for parenthood. I’d require a brain transplant to be ready for anything like Brody.” He held out his hand, inviting her to take it.
She clasped his hand and let him pull her to her feet. But once upright, the energy snapping through her at the contact had her pulling her hand away.
A thought curled into her mind, unformed but nagging—maybe this was the nearly uncontrollable, powerful energy that had shot her mother into the arms of four different husbands and countless boyfriends, unraveling their family life and leaving Cameron in the hands of nannies.
She hadn’t ever had much compassion for her mother. But meeting Jake had shown her that perhaps there were energies in life that didn’t bend to the power of will, that didn’t give a hoot in hell for boundaries and well-laid plans. Maybe such an energy just pulled and tugged a person forward until they found love. The love everyone had a right to, but that so many people gave up on before they found.
Still, her flaming and failed relationship with Elliott was all the reminder she needed to know that until she got her head on right, falling for someone would be a recipe for disaster.
The beach was more populated up toward the pier, and they weaved their way through the slowly thickening crowd. The loudspeakers from the tented judging stand blared out a reggae beat. A group of women in skimpy thong-style bathing suits paraded past them. Cameron bet that half those suits had never had a drop of seawater on them, but she had to admit they were spot-on gorgeous. As were the women wearing them. She saw Jake eyeing a particularly buxom redhead.
Jealousy was an emotion she fought hard to overcome. Elliott had played on her insecurities. Toying with her heart was just one of the many ways he’d tried to have power over her. And she sure shouldn’t be feeling jealous now—she had no claim on Jake’s attentions.
When the redhead caught his eye, he turned away and slipped his arm around Cameron’s waist.
Had he felt her roiling emotions? She hoped not.
Sabrina had once told her that her brother and the guys like him who were baseball stars had a keen awareness of bodies and could read minds by reading body language, something like a sixth sense. She wasn’t sure she liked being an open book. She hadn’t learned to read herself yet, and she sure didn’t want someone else poking through her unformed thoughts.
But Jake’s arm around her felt good. As did the gentle smile he gave her. She slipped her arm around him, telling herself it was just for a few moments. But as their steps fell into a matched cadence, the rhythm and his warmth felt better than she wanted them to.
A young boy ran down the beach toward a group of seagulls near the tideline. He giggled his pleasure as they rose in a flashing, squawking mass and dispersed into the cloudless sky. Jake stiffened as the boy chased them and ran toward the foaming waves. But before either of them could blink, a young woman ran from behind them and scooped up the laughing boy and swung him in circles.
“There’s a mom on the ball,” Jake said. He slipped his hand from her waist and twined his fingers with hers. “So I take it from your comment about requiring parent certification programs that you didn’t have the ideal childhood?” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I mean, I gathered as much from what you said back there.”
His direct question startled her, but not more than the feel of his palm against hers.
Touching him felt right.
Blissful.
Dangerous.
Hadn’t she told Sabrina just last month that she was going to take it slow and steady before getting into a relationship? That she was maybe even going to give up on men for a good long while?
“Does anyone have an ideal childhood?” she said, affecting a light tone and hoping he wouldn’t probe. Her dawning perspective on her mother’s love affairs, punctuated by the jarring awareness of wanting Jake more than she should—more than was good for her—had her mind spinning.
“I did.” He laughed. “Well, it was ideal in the ways that counted. Hadn’t really realized how good I had it growing up until I got around the other guys in the majors and heard their stories. My parents were partners. Still are. Raised me and my siblings right.”
Better to talk about his family than hers. The train wreck of having a Hollywood star for a mother and a father who died before she’d turned five hadn’t made home life anything to be proud of. Add to that her own early career as a child star, and the whole darn mess just got more complicated. Nope, not date talk. Date talk? Where had that come from? But it was a date. And she cared more than she wanted to about the outcome.
“Cameron?” Jake’s voice and the gentle squeeze on her hand pulled her back. “Hey, you don’t have to talk about your family. Want to go up to the contestants tent? Maybe your friend is around.”
He pointed to the tent, and his gesture entranced her. How could such a simple movement of forearm and shoulder scream out grace and power? The sun seemed to pour along his bare chest like liquid gold and highlight every ripple of chiseled muscle. She barely resisted the urge to run her fingertips along the curves of his pecs and across his taut stomach.
Jake’s muscles hadn’t been cranked up in a gym, Hollywood style, for a brief stint in front of a camera. Everything about his body screamed integrity of movement, of a life lived in full motion. And as they approached the tent and several of the world-class surfers passed by them, she saw the same integrity and power in their bodies.
Athletes. She’d never thought much about them before. Sure, she’d watched a few ballgames on TV, had even attended a couple of tennis matches with Elliott. But with her awareness ramped up from spending time with Jake, the chemistry of shape and movement and excellence was a perfect cocktail to flood her good sense and trigger an aching desire.
But the phalanx of photographers outside the contestants’ tent made her chest clench.
Perhaps because he felt her hesitation, Jake drew his brows together. “We don’t have to go closer if you don’t want to,” he said.
She took in a breath and watched for half a minute. The photographers were training their cameras on the surfers.
“Let’s go in—they aren’t tabloid shooters. These guys seem cool.”
She let go of his hand to dig the pass Cory had sent her out of her back pocket. She flashed it, and the security guys let them into the tent.
She scanned the scene. Surfboards lined the tent, and men in board shorts and rash guards talked around a table spread with snacks and beverages. “I don’t see my friend.”
“There’s a board here with the heats listed,” Jake pointed out. Of course he’d know how to scope out the rudiments of the sport, figure out how scores were kept. “What’s his name?”
“Cory Brandon.”
Jake ran his finger along the names on the board. “Cory Brandon’s already run. Top score. He won’t have to ride again until tomorrow.”
“Maybe he’s around. He’s seeded to win this.” But when she asked after Cory, it turned out he was off-site for a charity gig in the city.
“I love the buzz in here,” Cameron said, referring to the mixture of accents and languages among the waiting contestants.
“Yup, pregame buzz. Best next to game buzz, but not as good as win buzz.”
And she’d have to be dead not to notice the sensual beauty of suntanned skin over hard-planed muscle and the variations in the surfers’ bodies. Jake was taller by a head than most of the men in the tent, but these men had bodies trained and toned to take on the ocean.
“Yo!” said a guy with an Australian accent as he approached them. “Dev Merchado,” the man said, offering his hand to Jake. “Saw you play in the World Series last year. Awesome game. You here to see us ride the heat?”
“Thanks.” Jake nodded to Cameron. “My friend knows one of the leaders.”
He’d avoided using her name. She loved him for it.
“I’m up in ten minutes,” Dev said, pointing to the board. “I intend to win this bugger,” he added with a laugh. “No aspersion on your friend. Who is your friend, by the way?”
