by Honey
He searched her face, looking for a reason why. These past few weeks he had battled to stay away from her. With this one kiss, he was losing.
"Don't ask me why." The words were a whisper. "I just wanted to."
She went to move away from him, but he shoved his knee in the door's path and prevented it from being closed. He entered the room and shut the door with a kick of his foot. She gasped as he caught her in his arms, jerked her to his chest, and held her tightly.
Then he was kissing her until he heard her breath catch; opening her mouth with his tongue and sliding between her startled, wet lips. He felt a thickening deep in his groin. She clung to him, a whimper sounding from her throat as slender fingers slipped into his hair and his Stetson fell to the floor. Without backing out of the kiss, he raised his hands to the buttons at her collar. He loved the taste of her, could feel the blood pulsing beneath her skin.
The fullness of soft, round breasts filled his hands, the nipples peaking as his fingers teased them through the thin chemise covering her silky skin. He inhaled her scent, the lavender that was uniquely hers when the perfume veiled her body. Heat rippled under his skin wherever they touched. Shivers ran through her in all directions when he pressed tiny kisses along her jaw, down her throat, and along her shoulder.
She tugged at the buttons on his shirt and softly worn pants, sliding her fingers beneath his clothes and caressing his chest. Stroking him, her hands blazed a hot trail across his skin. The kiss broke, then began anew, then broke again as slowly, piece by piece, items of clothing were shed.
With exploring fingers, he found the long pin that kept her silly hat on. He took it off. Then he gently pulled the pins from her hair, capturing the thick mane in his hands as it fell to her waist. Naked, she arched her back as he massaged one breast, the bud swollen beneath his touch. In a torturously light way, she skimmed the side of his ribs, then lower to the part of him that ached with wanting her. She encircled him. His body tensed, then reacted with a shuddering ecstasy when she explored, and touched him in the ways he had done to her.
His mouth left hers with a groan, and he stilled the kiss long enough to take her to the bed, where they fell into the downy coverlet. Taking her open mouth, he kissed her once more as he moved over her parted legs. She lifted herself to him but stilled before he touched her.
"Alex..." she said against his lips, but she said nothing more.
He knew what she was going to say because he had thought it himself.
The beat of his heart raged in his ears and he wanted her more at this moment than he ever had another woman in his life. But to take the same risks as last time would be tempting fate. He murmured next to the corner of her mouth, "I know what to do. You don't have to worry, honey."
That was what she needed to hear because she held onto his shoulders and moved beneath him in abandonment and surrender, taking him into her and moving in a rhythm with him. He pulled her against him, holding her close so that he could feel every trembling emotion beating through her. She clasped her arms around his back and met each thrust as he brought her to a climax that made her cry out against his lips.
As the last quake of her body enveloped him, he withdrew and spent himself, kissing her, holding her, feeling utterly complete.
* * * * *
Alex spent the night in Camille's hotel room. They lay in each other's arms, making love until the sun began to shimmer through the curtains. As they talked, one subject was never touched upon—the future.
They traveled to Boston to play the Somersets, who were in the lead for the pennant. After the team won an early afternoon game against the team, Alex took Camille to the public gardens.
The sky was laced with gray clouds, but the air was warm and muggy. Alex held her hand while they walked down a path through the waist-high wrought-iron fence surrounding the garden. Moored at the banks of a lagoon were swan boats with gondoliers waiting to take couples on a ride over the water.
"Which one?" Alex asked, referring to the white swans with their painted black beaks and yellow eyes.
"Hmm. Let me see." She shrugged with a smile. "They all look the same."
"I think we should ride in that one. It looks like a bird from your hat."
Her mouth fell open in mock offense. "I've never worn a swan on my hat."
"A duck, then."
"Duck feathers."
"Same thing. But I like your hats, so I don't care if it's swans or ducks that decorate them."
He took her toward the boat on the end. The gondolier doffed his beret and welcomed them.
Camille stepped into the gently bobbing boat with Alex's help. He sat beside her, their backs cushioned by red-and-white-striped pillows. Their fingers entwined. With the smooth strokes of the gondolier's pole, the swan was propelled out to the middle of the lake. Water softly lapped against the hull and made a quiet trickling sound as it ran down the pole with each stroke.
Tipping her face toward the sky, Camille closed her eyes and let the warmth of the sun, peeking out from behind clouds, fall over her face.
"This is better than a flatboat ride," she said with a dreamy sigh. "My Uncle Grant worked for the Shreveport Boat and Boiler Company, and when I was a little girl, he'd let me ride the flatboat with him. I thought nothing could be better than floating down the Mississippi. But this is." She looked at Alex. "Because you're with me."
He lowered his head over hers, his eyes a rich brown that could make her lose every conscious thought in her head. "I don't want to be anyplace else." Then he kissed her.
It didn't matter that they weren't alone. The kiss was soft and special, making her heartbeat thud.
She smiled with Alex as they admired at the lush weeping willows and beautifully kept garden paths leaving the banks. Halfway to the other side of the lagoon, a fat raindrop fell. Then another. And another one—until the sky unleashed a downpour.
The gondolier propelled them faster to the shelter of trees. Once at the sandy shore, Camille and Alex stepped out of the boat and ran beneath the canopy of willow branches.
With her back against the trunk and Alex's arms braced on both sides of her, she breathlessly asked, "Now what shall we do?"
"This."
And he kissed her once more, his tongue entering her mouth. She clung to his shoulders, kissing him back. The taste of him melted against her lips. She didn't want the kiss to end.
She didn't want this day to end.
She made a conscious effort to keep her mind focused on Alex, the way he made her feel in this fragment of time. She'd remember it, always.
"We're getting wet," Alex murmured next to her mouth.
"I don't want to go back to the hotel yet."
"No?"
"No. I want to go window shopping."
With a soft smile, he nodded. "All right."
They held hands, laughing and running through the downpour to the end of the gardens and onto the streets, which were all but empty. Most of the pedestrians had gone inside to wait for the skies to clear from the late summer shower.
Camille and Alex walked down the sidewalk, hand in hand, stopping every now and then to look at a display, to admire this or that.
Every block or so, they held back beneath an awning to share a stolen kiss, then moved on without any hurry at all in spite of the fact they were soaked through.
Once at the hotel, they went through the lobby and up the stairs with a respectable distance between them. At Camille's door, they entered the room together, walking across the floor and kissing at the same time, stripping away wet clothes that fell in sodden piles about them. And on the bed, they lay naked in each other's arms, caressing, touching, marveling.
Making love.
Alex didn't leave until the first rays of light filtered through the room.
The next day, they left for Chicago. And each night when the hallways grew quiet and guests had extinguished the lights in their hotel rooms, Alex and Camille found their way to one another, sharing a bed an
d the needs that had been building during the day through brushes of their hands, caressing gazes, and conversations that held a more intimate meaning than was apparent on the surface.
Discussing promises that hadn't—and wouldn't— be made would only make Camille long for something she couldn't have—his love, the gift of his name, a wedding ring, and a walk down the aisle to be his bride. Alex had been perfectly honest from the beginning. She'd take what she could of their time together, and perhaps along the way, something would change.
The word affair didn't linger in her mind. To confront it would mean she'd have to admit she wanted to make love with Alex Cordova without any promises. What did that say about her?
For now, she didn't give herself a chance to think about it.
Because the Keystones had defied every odd against them and, this afternoon, had beaten the Chicago White Stockings.
Harmony's Honeybees were going home to play for the pennant.
* * * * *
Alex tucked the newly arrived letter behind the boxes of cut nails and cans of varnish. There was no question now. No more wondering what if. Captain had been accepted by Silas Denton as a patient. They were to be in Buffalo next week.
Sunshine splashed through the open doors of the wood shop as Alex sanded the long piece of ash he'd made into a bat. The wood was finely grained, perfect for hitting balls out of the park if a batter knew how to wield it with just the right pull in his swing. He took a cloth and wiped the bat clean, ridding it of all dust. Then he reached for the red-hot iron bit and started to draw the face of a bear on the wide end of the bat. Tight and controlled strokes, he drew the nose and hair, the eyes, the muzzle, the teeth.
For his last game with the Keystones, Alex was going to play as "the Grizz." In a few hours at Municipal Field, either the Boston Somersets or the Harmony Keystones were going to win the pennant. The series was tied three apiece. Camille had done it. She'd brought them this close.
When he finished with the bat, he went outside to let the heat pour over his face. He walked to the back of the property, to the square pitching zone he'd made from timbers. Staring at it, he looked at the bucket of baseballs, his thoughts going to Camille. To the day she'd found him throwing balls. He couldn't imagine not staying with her. He couldn't imagine not taking Cap to New York.
Cap appeared from behind the building's corner. Confusion marked his expression as he frowned at Alex.
"Alex, I have to ask you something."
"Yeah, Cap?" he replied, absently picking up one of the baseballs and throwing it into the mound of dirt. He grabbed another ball. "What it is?"
"Do I know a guy named Joe?"
Alex froze. He looked at the baseball in his hand, then at Cap, who waited with quiet expectation in his eyes. As if he already knew the answer. "Yeah, you do."
"I thought so. He plays baseball, doesn't he?"
No shock or surprise registered in Alex. Deep down, from the progress Cap had been making, he knew this would come out. "He did."
Captain nodded, then ran his hand through his clipped black hair. His eyes lowered to the baseballs in the bucket, then at the one in Alex's hand. "I think I want to try to see if I can play baseball. Would you throw me some balls, Alex?"
"Yeah, sure, Cap."
Cap stood a fair distance apart and Alex tossed him a soft one.
"Not like that," Cap directed him. "Throw me one like you'd throw to the Keystones."
Alex wound up and threw a hard pitch. Cap reached out for it without flinching. Then he hurled it back to Alex. They shot the ball back and forth to each other for a while, then Alex quietly asked, "Cap, do you want to meet Joe?"
Captain nodded. "I think I'd like to."
"I'm glad to hear that, because we're going to go to a doctor in Buffalo, New York." For the first time, he said the plans out loud; it gave him resolution—no backing away or changing his mind. "Not like those docs you saw before. This doctor is the best. He said you can come see him. It's all set. We'll leave next week."
Captain lowered his arm. "You say he's not like the other docs?"
"No. He's a good one. He can help you get to know Joe."
Regarding him with undiluted trust, Cap said, "Okay. I'll go to Buffalo as long as we'll come back to Harmony—all right? I have my job and Hildegarde is here. I don't want to leave Hildegarde forever."
Alex didn't know how to reply. It all depended on so much. In the end, all he could offer was, "It'll all work out, Cap."
* * * * *
"This could be it," her father said with unbridled euphoria. "The last game of the pennant is only hours away and we could win. Camille sugar, are you sure you have everything ready? The lineup, the equipment? You should have plenty of drinking water in the barrel, towels, bandages—but we won't think along those lines." He stood in his store wearing his best suit and black string tie. Pacing in front of the counter, he continued to question her without giving her a chance to reply. "Do you have plenty of new balls? Glove leather oil? Is the lineup made out? Oh,
I asked that already. What did you say? All right, it should be good weather for today's game. Sunny. Not overly hot. But then again, I saw clouds on the horizon. White, though."
Camille reached out and touched him on the arm. "Daddy, if we win, it's not going to have anything to do with having bandages on hand and the water barrel in order. We'll win because the players have played the best game they can."
"I know that." His eyes searched hers and he smiled. "But this could be the biggest day of my life. If we win this one, we win the pennant. It all rides on these nine innings. Do you think the Keystones can do it?"
"Yes, I do."
Unexpectedly, he engulfed her in a bear hug. "Camille sugar, however it goes, I'm so proud of you."
Her heart sang with his love and appreciation.
He patted her back, then awkwardly pulled away, and, to her surprise, took the handkerchief from his coat pocket and loudly blew his nose. "You'd better get over to the ball field if you're going to make it on time."
She grinned, feeling tears fill her eyes. "I'm never late."
She left the store with mixed feelings. The Keystones had come so far. So had she. But her steps lacked the lightness they should have as she walked to Municipal Field.
Today Camille was going to tell Alex she loved him.
She couldn't pretend that stolen moments were enough anymore. They weren't. The baseball season had come to an end. She'd give it up for him, if that meant they could be a couple. She knew she'd told the players nothing would make her quit; she'd do everything possible to keep her relationship with Alex and manage them. If they were married, she didn't see how there could be a problem.
Either they'd commit to spending the rest of their lives together or she'd tell him she couldn't see him anymore. It was too painful to go on wishing for things that might or might not ever happen.
She thought she'd be happy going to the pennant, having that chance to prove to her father that she'd done the job well, but she realized now that it meant nothing. Not without knowing that Alex would be there for her for all the days to come—that win or lose, they'd have each other.
She was about to step off the corner when Hildegarde hurried up the boardwalk. She was crying. She had both hands on her round cheeks as she moved swiftly toward Camille.
"Hildegarde," Camille called to her friend, going to her side to stop her. "What's happened?"
Hildegarde's face flushed with bright color. "I have to go home and tell my mother." Her eyes glittered as she stared at Camille. "Captain told me he's leaving town next week. He and Alex are going to New York."
"New York?" A soft gasp escaped her. She stared at Hildegarde, her insides quaking. "But they'll be back..."
"I don't think so. I couldn't listen to any more. I just kept thinking that he gave me Violette France perfume. And that I love him with all my heart." Fresh tears caught on the young woman's thick lashes. "Captain said he's going to be seeing a new d
octor. I want him to, but I want him to be with me, too."
"New doctor?" Camille heard herself speaking, but it didn't seem to be her voice. Leaving for New York next week.
Hildegarde's tears came anew. "I need to go home. I... can't believe he's leaving."
Then she was gone.
The shock of the discovery hit Camille full force, holding her to the spot, with only a fragile control keeping her from crying herself. But there was no time to do anything, to say anything.
Less than fifteen minutes later, she was in the Keystones clubhouse, reciting the most important lineup in her career as a manager and giving Alex glances that were so unsteady, she could hardly breathe, much less think.
As the game began, Camille sat on the bench, numbness seeping into her bones. She could barely keep her mind on the activity in front of her. A brittleness edged her normally calm demeanor. Her temper rose to a degree where it boiled, something she rarely experienced, much less showed. She was angry and hurt, wanting to say nothing to Alex other than tell him he was unkind.
Once, their eyes met, and she sensed he knew what had gotten her so upset. Clearly, her dark mood was evidence enough that she wasn't herself. But the fact that she couldn't look at him without her pulse tripping, without wanting to ask him why he'd not told her his plans, had her snapping at him in front of the players rather than questioning him. And even if he did have an explanation to offer her, he couldn't exactly talk about it in the middle of a pennant game, in the middle of a dozen players watching and listening on the bench.
Fly-off-the-handle comments came out of her mouth at the umpire; as luck would have it, Mr. Carpio, the man she had to remind herself not to call something else, bore the brunt of her raised voice.
In the bottom of the ninth, the score tied, with Boston turning on every bit of power they had. Bones smacked one into right field and dashed to first. Seeing he had to hustle to make the base, Bones slid into the bag, only to be called out by Mr. Carpio when the first baseman tagged Bones on the leg.
