by Francis Ray
When he returned, she was sitting on the floor outside the bathroom with a bottle of water clenched in her hand, her head bowed. Crossing to her, he hunkered down in front of her. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
Her head lifted. “You didn’t scare me.”
In her eyes he saw every one of his wicked fantasies fulfilled, every desire satisfied. “Celeste.” They moved at the same time. Their lips met, a gentle pressure, a soft sigh of remembrance.
Gathering her in his arms, he eased them down on the floor. The heat of the kiss built as their mouths and hands sought each other. His hand slid under her T-shirt, felt the silken skin, the warmth that pulled him. He wanted her to feel him, feel what she did to him. With a deft roll, she was on top, her legs between his.
She stiffened. Alec was about to lift her away when she relaxed again, her hands in his hair tightening, her tongue meeting his thrust for thrust.
Fire and ecstasy. He reached for control or he’d take her. His body clamored for release that he knew he’d find but couldn’t take when he knew she deserved so much more.
He pulled his mouth away, rolled until they were side by side, then just held her, waiting until both of their bodies retreated from the jaws of arousal. He couldn’t stop touching her. He wouldn’t deny himself that much. His hand stroked her hair: The heavy strands drifted like silk though his fingers.
He thought of it spread out on his pillow and shook the image away. “What is it about you that gets to me?” he said, realizing too late that he’d voiced his thought aloud.
Her head lifted. She stared down at him with eyes that still shimmered with desire. “If I could answer your question, perhaps I could figure out why you get to me. No man ever has before.”
He stared at her, the implication sinking in. His eyes clamped shut. Damn. Even as his brain told him to release her, his hold tightened. Who would have thought a woman with beauty, brains, a body to make a man whimper, could have reached the age of—
“How old are you?”
She pushed against him until she leaned far enough away so she could see his face. An imperious brow lifted. “A gentleman never asks a lady her age.”
He didn’t know why he wanted to laugh, to hug her. Celeste could act haughty, imperious, but he felt her heart beating as wildly out of control as his. “Your mother taught you that?”
“My grandmother. We might be third-generation Puerto Rican, but she followed the old traditions,” Celeste told him, a frown forming on her face.
“She wouldn’t approve of this, I guess?” he asked, already feeling the emptiness of his arms as Celeste pushed away. Accepting his fate, he helped her to her feet.
“Thank you,” she said primly. “I should get back to grouting the bathroom floor. I have an appointment at my office at twelve.”
Now he frowned. “You’re going to do it by yourself?”
“Yes. Willie’s knees can’t take the bending two days in a row.” Celeste finished strapping on her knee pads. “The man I usually use had another job and I couldn’t wait on him.”
He should just leave, but his feet weren’t moving. “I thought decor—” He stopped and amended at one of her sharp looks. “Interior designers just thought of the ideas and then hired and oversaw the work.”
“Most of them do, but I like hands-on.”
His unruly mind took her comment in an entirely different direction. He certainly liked her hands on him. From the way the pulse beat in the base of her throat, she had the same thought.
“I, er, better get to it if I’m going to be on time. I have to go home, shower, and change first.”
She was making it harder to leave, and him harder. Innocent and irresistible. Who would have thought it? “I’ll leave you to it.” He turned.
“I cooked too much for breakfast, so I put a plate in the refrigerator for you. I don’t like wasting food.”
He swung back, but she had disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t understand her, couldn’t get her out of his mind. She aroused his body, his curiosity. She gave with no thought of receiving, fought to help a man she’d just met, kissed him as if her life depended on it. She was also one hell of a cook, and he was suddenly hungry. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Bye, Alec,” she called from inside the bathroom. “We both have work to do.”
True, but that didn’t seem to keep him from wanting to stay. He hadn’t gone too far down the stairs before he thought he knew the reason he lingered. As long as he thought of Celeste he didn’t have to think his lifelong dream as a police officer might be over, of the face of the man he’d killed.
His appetite vanished. Instead of continuing to the kitchen, he went to his room and changed into his work clothes. Dressed, he glanced at the closed drawer of the nightstand. His life was in turmoil. It was no time to think about having an affair, but in this, as with the shooting, he couldn’t push those thoughts away.
But he would. He had to.
“You think he’ll come, Mom? He said he’d try.”
Gina forced a smile and stared down at Ashton in his uniform and protective gear as they crossed the grassy park heading to the soccer field. Her heart ached for Ashton because he had given up on his father ever coming to one of his games, but not Max. “He said he’d try, but he’s a busy man.”
Ashton looked around. “I saw his car. It’s gray like Coach Sams’. Do you see a car like that?”
“No, Ashton,” Gina said. “But there are a lot of cars here.”
“Come on, Ashton,” called the coach on the field. “Warm-up time.”
“You’ll keep an eye out for him, won’t you, Mom, because I have to keep my eyes on the ball.”
Gazing down at the earnest face of her son, Gina wanted to hug him. A no-no while he was in uniform. “I will. I’ll sit at the top of the bleachers so I’ll have a good advantage.”
“Ashton!” called the coach.
“Gotta go.”
“Good luck,” Gina called as Ashton ran on the field. Her smile slipped. She thought of calling Robert to ask him to come but already knew the answer. He’d cite Saturday as a busy day, that next weekend he was picking up the children.
Speaking to the family and friends of team members, Gina climbed the metal bleachers. She was on the fourth one before her breathing began to be labored. By the time she reached the eighth and top one, she was blowing hard. Sitting on the metal seat, she pressed her hand to her booming heart.
She should have brought a bottle of water. She could go back down the stairs and get one out of the chest reserved for parents, but then she’d have to climb the bleachers again.
Definitely not worth it. She’d be fine in a few minutes, sooner since the game was starting. She stood to her feet, yelling along with everyone else for their team. “Go, Yellow Hornets! Go, Ashton!”
The opposing team gained possession of the ball and headed downfield. Her gaze went to Ashton, swaying slightly, ready to defend the net. Her heart thumped as it always did. He loved being the goalie, but it was such a crucial position. And she never liked when the ball, as it did now, zoomed toward the net and Ashton had to block it with his small body.
He deftly blocked the ball. The cheers went up again. Gina had never been good at sports, but thank goodness both of her children were athletic and not clumsy like their mother.
“Your son is good, Gina,” Carla Patterson commented as the game progressed and Ashton kept the other team scoreless. Her son Richie was a forward on Ashton’s ream and had scored the only point in the game.
“So is Richie,” Gina commented. “The team will really miss him when he moves to another age group to play.”
Carla glanced up over her shoulder. “I can tell you I’m not looking forward to him playing with bigger boys. His father is all for it. Look at him down there on the sidelines.” She laughed. “It’s a wonder Coach Sams doesn’t bar him from the games.”
Gina’s gaze wandered to where the coach and a group of men stood. Richie�
�s father wasn’t the only father there. The men showed their support of their sons while Robert made excuses. True, not all the fathers of the boys on the team came, but most of them did. Ashton had to notice that his father had been only twice and left in less than half an hour. He was another no-show today, and the game was almost over.
“Wonder who he belongs to?” Holly, one of the other mothers sitting beside Carla, asked.
Gina wouldn’t have paid the comment any attention if she hadn’t been looking for Max and remembered the impact he had on Celeste. And, if she was honest, on her as well. Searching the area, she saw Max—tall, athletic, graceful—coming down the sidelines. Her heart did a crazy thump. She frowned, wondering if there was something wrong with her heart.
“You’d better not let Ben see you ogling a man,” Carla told the other woman with a laugh.
“He’s so intent on the game he’ll never notice, but if he did . . .” Holly leaned over and whispered something in Carla’s ear and they both laughed.
Gina could just imagine what Holly had said. Something sexual probably. Looking at Max getting closer to them, Gina couldn’t blame her. Intimacy was an important part of marriage, as Pastor Carter had preached.
Gina should have known something was wrong with their marriage when Robert moved out of the bedroom, saying he needed a firmer mattress for his back, that he didn’t want to disturb her when he came in so late from work.
She had been gullible and too trusting.
Max paused parallel to Ashton as his team took the ball back down the field. She saw Ashton’s wide smile. He waved to Max. Max waved back. She could almost hear Max’s warm chuckle.
Holly and Carla both turned to look up at her, a speculative expression on their faces. “He’s a client,” Gina felt compelled to say; then she stood, waving to Max although it was impossible for him not to see her on the short bleachers.
Since most of the men were on the sidelines, preferring to leave the seats to the women, Max drew a great deal of attention as he made his way to her. Courteous as always, he spoke and said “excuse me” several times before he stood beside her.
“Hi.” He grinned.
“Hi,” Gina said, grinning back. She might have kept the grin on her face if those around her hadn’t let out a wild yell. Her attention snapped to the field.
One of the other team’s best scorers was taking the ball downfield, dodging Ashton’s teammates with deftness and skill. Ten feet away from the goal, he shot the ball. Ashton batted it away, keeping the other team from tying the score.
“Go, Ashton!” Max yelled, applauding wildly. “I don’t feel so bad now. He’s a great player.”
“Thank you, and thank you for coming,” she said.
“I told him I’d make it if I could. I try to keep my promises. Sorry I’m late. I came as soon as my cousin and his wife left.” Taking her arm, he sat down, drawing her with him. “I hired a couple of men to help me move the furniture as you suggested. It looks good.”
“Great. I can’t wait until Monday to see it.”
“You don’t have to wait that long. I figured, after we do the grocery shopping, I could take you by so you can see it today,” he said.
To be wanted. “I’d like that. I wish—” she began, then caught herself before she said she wished his father kept his promises. From the sympathetic look on Max’s face, he knew what she’d been about to say. She felt exposed and tucked her head.
He leaned over and whispered, “Ashton has you.”
Her head lifted. Max stared back at her, his black eyes direct, gentle with understanding. She felt the strange sensation in her chest again. “Thank you.”
“Ashton is an incredible kid. He had to learn from someone.” Max gave his attention back to the game.
Gina thought of Gabrielle, sullen and disrespectful. Who had taught her to be that way? Gina shook the thought away and stared back out at the field. Her concentration kept being fragmented between the man beside her and the game.
She didn’t think it was intentional that he sat so close to her, that only a whisper of space separated them. Still, she felt the warmth, the muscular strength, and a strange feeling of being protected. Idiotic notions, but they were there nonetheless.
“Hold, Ashton!” the coach yelled. “Hold and this is our game!”
Gina, Max, and the crowd stood to their feet. The same player carried the ball downfield again, shooting it to his teammate, who shot it back. The player spun, straightened, then three feet from the net kicked the soccer ball. Ashton dove for the ball. It hit him squarely in the chest. He went down. The whistle blew.
The crowd, already on their feet, cheered loudly. The game was over.
Gina’s hand clenched Max’s arms. “He’s not getting up! He’s not getting up!” She frantically pushed her way through the celebrating crowd. The noise gradually abated as people realized Ashton was still down. The coach and others ran to the field.
By the time Gina reached the edge of the field, she was winded. Max, holding her arm, stopped. “Please go,” she urged.
Thankfully, he didn’t argue. He raced toward the crowd now gathered around Ashton. Praying every step, Gina pushed her body forward. She’d heard of players receiving a direct hit to their chest and it stopping their heart. Protective gear hadn’t helped. Tears crested in her eyes. Please, not Ashton.
“Let me through.” When people didn’t move, she pushed them aside. “I’m his mother.” Finally, they moved. Not knowing what she’d see, she felt tears sting her eyes, clog her throat.
She wasn’t paying attention to any of the faces; her child was her entire focus. He had to be all right. The last person moved and she almost dropped to her knees. Ashton was sitting up with his coach on one side of him and Max on the other.
Max looked up. “He’s all right, Gina. He just had the wind knocked out of him.”
Relief swept though her. Tears crested, then rolled down her cheeks. “Ashton,” her voice wobbled.
“Mama,” he said, his lower lip trembling, his face damp with perspiration.
She dropped to her knees, dragging him into her arms, hugging him, rocking him. “Ashton! Ashton!”
“He’s all right, Mrs. Rawlings, and he kept us undefeated,” the coach said. “With players like Ashton, we’re going to win the division championship.”
Gina clutched her son tighter. “You can’t possibly think I’ll let him play again.”
The coach blinked. “What?”
Gina tried to stand without releasing Ashton. She felt a strong hand at her elbow, effortlessly helping her to her feet. Max.
“Now, Mrs. Rawlings, Ashton is all right,” the coach soothed.
“And he’s going to stay that way,” she said, her voice and body trembling as she held Ashton close to her.
“Mrs. Raw—”
“Perhaps it’s best to discuss this later,” Max said to the coach before leading her away. “Do you feel like driving or should I take you home? We can come back later and pick up your car.”
“I— I’d appreciate it if you’d take us home.”
“This way to my car.”
Gina didn’t release Ashton until Max opened the back door to his Pathfinder. She sat Ashton on the seat and climbed in beside him. Her hands trembled so badly Max had to help buckle them both in before he gently swiped his large hand down her arm.
“He’s all right, Gina. In another hour or so he’ll be ready to tell his friends about the save of the century.” Max reached past her and brushed his hand over Ashton’s head. “Quite a save.”
Gina watched a smile spread across Ashton’s face, his body straighten the tiniest bit away from hers. Closing the door, Max went around to the driver’s side and got in. He’d effortlessly calmed the mother and reassured the son.
“Thank you,” she said, capturing his attention in the rearview mirror.
“I’m just glad I was here for you and Ashton.” He put the car in gear. “I’ll have you home in no tim
e. Unless Ashton would like a detour to pick up a pizza or a hamburger. If your mother agrees.”
“I—” Gina began, but her son cut her off.
“I could eat a pizza, Mama,” Ashton said, his face expectant.
Gina stared at her son, then at Max as his warm laughter chased away the last of her fears. “I guess it would be all right.”
Ashton’s grin matched Max’s. “I feel better already.”
For the first time since she’d seen Ashton so still on the field, Gina smiled, and it was all due to the man smiling back at her.
THIRTEEN
Alec knew it was a bad idea, but he hadn’t been able to talk himself out of doing it. He’d never done it before, but somehow it seemed right. So why was he so nervous?
His hand tightened on the handle of the bag in his hand. He watched Celeste shut the back door of her van and walk to the driver’s side.
He’d been trying to work up his nerve for several minutes, ever since he’d gotten back and seen her preparing to leave.
It was now or never. He stepped from around the corner of the house. “Celeste.”
She turned, a bashful smile on her beautiful face. He wondered if she was thinking of the torrid kiss or seeing him hard and ready for her.
“Hi, Alec. I was just leaving.”
“For your appointment?” he asked, trying to keep his mind on the matter at hand.
“Yes.” She glanced at the plain stainless-steel watch on her slim wrist. “I’ll have just enough time.”
A shy Celeste was a novelty. She’d been so self-assured all the time, testing his control to the limits. It was reassuring to see that he wasn’t the only one struggling to figure out what the hell was going on between them. “I hope you planned time to eat.” He lifted the take-out bag from Sticky Fingers toward her.
Her eyes widened with surprised pleasure. “You bought me lunch?”
He felt like sticking his chest out and tucking his head at the same time. He’d never been this conflicted about a woman in his life. And he’d been dating since he turned sixteen. “It seemed the right thing to do at the time.”
