by Ashley Ladd
“Why?” She wanted to know what made this man who he was, and this could be her only chance. The final thought plummeted her into sadness.
He rubbed at his stubble-coated chin. “Guess cop fever’s in my blood now. I like making a difference in the world. Helping the innocent and putting away the bad guys.”
Commiserating, she nodded. “I know.” The minute the words escaped, she knew she’d goofed. She tried to cover her slipup. “I-I’ve heard a lot of the officers say the same thing. I guess it’s like being a modern-day white knight.”
He turned the car onto Sample Road, a wide, straight boulevard lined with lazily swaying palm trees. The park’s floodlights could be seen from at least a mile down the road. The sign at the park entrance announced that Butterfly World and the batting cages were to the south of Sample Road, and the stables and main picnic area lay to the north. She had been meaning to check out Butterfly World, but to date, she had only visited Tradewinds to see the big Christmas light display. She usually didn’t come this far north. There were plenty of parks and things to do in her neighborhood.
Bright artificial light made it impossible to see the moonlight and disappointment assailed her. So much for romance under the stars.
Men from fifteen to sixty, wearing baseball caps of their favorite teams filled most of the cages. The only other woman tapped her bat against each foot, knocking off red clay from her cleats.
Cole rested his hand in the small of her back as they entered a batting cage labeled “slow pitch”. “Were you ever on a team as a kid?”
She thought back to the miserable summer she’d given softball a go and grimaced. The coach had benched her almost every inning so she hadn’t seen much point in wasting her time. “Only one season.”
“Do you know how to hold the bat properly?” He wound his arms around her and placed her hands on the bat’s thin neck.
Even if she had been an expert hitter, she’d lie through her teeth to stay in his arms. She shook her head and nibbled her lower lip. “Not really. I watch what the other players do and swing hard.”
Cole murmured huskily against her ear, his breath warm. “It’s not always about length and power but technique.”
Oh God! He hadn’t just said that. She had to be hallucinating. Sexy men never came on to her like this, not even in teasing.
Squirming, she wrapped her fingers tighter around the poor bat. No scintillating retort popping to her lips, she gulped and nodded.
“No worries. You’ll be hitting home runs by our second lesson.”
Second lesson? She hadn’t frightened him off? Tingles raced down her spine to her toes and she longed to sink back against him. To hell with the bat.
First, she had to survive this lesson fraught with his merciless teasing. “Can I hold you to that?”
“I’ll put it in writing, darlin’.”
Wishing she’d worn a cap more to hide the telltale heat rising in her cheeks than to block out the blinding light, Haley squinted and choked up on the bat as she tried to keep an eye on the green light that would signal when a ball was about to come hurtling at her. “You sure this thing won’t hurl a million balls at once? Or zing a ninety mile per hour heater?”
Cole chuckled. “I guarantee it but if it does, I’ll protect you. Now ease off a little. Relax.” He reached around her to move her hands. In so doing, he pressed up against her behind.
Cripes! How did he expect her to breathe, much less think straight? Gulping, she nodded, not trusting her voice.
Too soon, he moved away so she could swing. Although the night breeze caressing her skin was balmy, she shivered. “Are they going to rifle out at me?”
“This is the slow-pitch cage. I set it to start slow at forty miles per hour. If you get the hang of this, then we’ll increase the ball’s speed.”
That didn’t sound too bad. “Okay.” She gritted her teeth, her gaze glued to the mechanical arm. “Let ‘em rip.”
To her chagrin, she missed most of the first set of pitches. “What am I doing wrong?” The game shouldn’t be this difficult. All Americans adored it. Her dad, an artist in his spare time, was a very atypical cop. Instead of playing ball with her when she was growing up, he’d taught her to draw cartoon characters.
“You’re still too stiff and jerky. Your swing needs to flow. The bat’s just an extension of your body. Hold your fingers this way.” He wrapped strong arms around her and helped her hit a few balls. “See?”
His raspy breath tickled her neck, as the rest of her smoldered in his embrace. “Like a pen. Or a g—” Gun, she’d almost said, and once again stopped just in time.
“Like what?” A quizzical look filled eyes that bore into her from no more than three inches away.
“My dad’s an artist, and I am too, of sorts. I do a little sketching. You said,” she interrupted her rambling to inhale, and then continued, “the bat should be an extension of my arm, and I meant just like my pen when I’m drawing.”
“What d’ya draw?”
“Cartoons mainly. Caricatures.”
The intensity of his gaze sharpened. “Like Batman?”
Oh, no! Had she caught herself up in a web of deceit, after all? Did he suspect her of being Catwoman? After all, she had always wondered how stupid or how blind Lois Lane really was for not recognizing Superman just because he wore glasses as Clark Kent. Wasn’t this the same difference? Almost, anyway. At least her hair was also very different, especially styled short, sassy, and curled.
She pretended to watch the mechanical arm. “I dabble with all the old favorite cartoons, and even a little Japanese anime, like Sailor Moon and Dragon Ball Z.”
She waited for him to either ask what that was, or name off his favorite anime characters.
Instead, he asked, “Can I come up and see your sketches when we get back?” His sultry voice made her knees weak and wobbly, and if not for his supporting arms, she would have sunk onto the ground at his feet.
He turned her around, captured her chin in his fingers and gazed deeply into her eyes. Passion blazed as his lips descended on hers, first soft and tentative, and then growing bolder.
The bat slipped from her fingers as they ached to caress his neck, to feel the rippling muscles in his shoulders. It clanged on the ground, almost drowned out by the rushing waterfall in her ears. Parting her lips, she greeted his tongue eagerly, mating hers with it. Her pussy tingled and forgetting where she was, she arched her hips against his swelling groin.
Feverish for him, her flesh as hypersensitive to his unintentional caresses as it had been that first night when his lips had plundered hers, she jumped when a little boy’s voice broke through her fogginess.
“Daddy, is he helping her bat?”
A man cleared his throat and, in an embarrassed voice, muttered, “Let’s see if there’s a cage on the other end.”
Mortified, Haley yanked away from Cole, her lips bruised, swollen, and deliciously moist. Some of her buttons had come undone, and she hurriedly fumbled to preserve her modesty, laughing softly.
Cole whistled under his breath and shot her an adorably embarrassed smile. Once they moved, his gaze smoldered down into hers. His thumbs grazed the line of her jaw. “I’d still really like to see your sketches.”
Mama mia! She knew what he really wanted to see, and it had nothing to do with her sketches. Although her body was past ready, her mind wasn’t and she suspected his wasn’t either. As long as he was still fascinated by her alter ego, he couldn’t truly be falling for her, could he? She had to test him. Besides, she’d hidden the costume under the mattress thinking it a brilliant move. “That’s clichéd even for you, Fischer.”
He caught her chin again and lifted her face toward him. Puzzlement flickered in his eyes as he turned her face first one way, and then the other. “You know, you remind me of someone, but I can’t figure out who.”
Nervous laughter bubbled to her lips, but she swallowed it. With superhuman determination, she forced herself to brea
the steadily. She couldn’t stop her toes from twitching, though, or her stomach from clenching painfully. “I’ve got one of those average faces everyone thinks they’ve seen.”
His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “I don’t think so. You’re really stunning.”
Her heart leapt for joy and her blood sizzled. “You’re not half bad yourself.”
He reached for her glasses. “What color are your eyes? I bet you’d be positively gorgeous if you traded in those big frames that hide half your face for contact lenses.”
Fear flared through her and she caught his hand, stopping it. “Don’t. I’m practically blind without them.”
His breath fanned her face. “So, what color are they under those tinted lenses? Brown, like milk chocolate? Or green, like an emerald?”
“They’re blue, like bluebonnets. Like I said, I’m just your typical blue-eyed blonde.” Maybe if she’d become a cop, she wouldn’t be so ordinary. She would be thrilling and intriguing, daring and adventurous. She swallowed a sigh. Instead, she was an ordinary, run-of-the-mill, almost blind working girl; she was so pink collar. Some days she thought she would die of boredom. Manipulating spreadsheets and macros put her to sleep. Her fingers itched to pull triggers, not dance atop keyboards. The only risks she faced day-to-day were in contracting carpal tunnel syndrome or a run in her pantyhose.
“You’ve worn glasses all your life?” His thumb caressed her bottom lip until it trembled.
Or maybe she trembled because he unwittingly brought the trauma of her life to the surface. Any mention of her eyes or vision cast her into the depths of misery. “N-no.” Her fingernails dug into her palms as she strived to keep her voice steady and unemotional. “I suffered a head injury almost four years ago. The optic nerves were permanently damaged.” She tried to turn away.
“An accident?” His fingers tightened around her, refusing to let her leave.
She nodded, unwilling to elaborate. Reliving it in her mind was bad enough without repeating it aloud. “It could’ve been worse. I’m lucky I wasn’t brain-damaged or one hundred percent blind.” She had to get him off this subject before she slipped and incriminated herself. “Let’s practice some more.”
Cole glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Time’s up. They’re going to turn out the lights momentarily.” He retrieved the bat and then linked his fingers through hers. “Don’t worry. We’ll come again.”
Warm feelings stirred inside her. He wanted to spend more time with her. Or maybe she just really stunk at softball and he’d do anything to help their team win. Surely, he hadn’t had to kiss her or buy her lobster just to teach her how to play softball.
Giddy, shivering from his touch, she practically floated beside him, her step bouncy, her hand squeezing his as their arms swung to-and-fro. She’d never felt so feminine or dainty as she did beside him. She’d never been so aware of a man or of herself. Higher than the clouds, she decided she must be in heaven.
He led her to a nearby canal that bordered the playing field and paused where lights from the apartments across the way danced over the smooth surface. Tall reeds and saw grass bobbed on the water’s edge. Palm trees cast dark shadows over the murky water. A frog croaked nearby, while further away, the hum of traffic from Sample and Lyons Roads kept the night from being too quiet.
Cole placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Beautiful,” he murmured, gazing at her.
Not sure if he meant her or the view, she said as she quivered. “It’s lovely out here.”
“Warm, sultry nights like this are why I came to Florida.” He drew her inescapably closer, his dark gaze hypnotizing her.
Her hands ached to touch him and she longed to know if his heart beat half as erratically as hers. “Paradise,” she agreed, unbuttoning two buttons and sliding her trembling hand over his heart. Her fingers sifted through silky, curly hair, delighting her. When her fingertip grazed his nipple, he shuddered and sucked in his breath, and she nearly swooned. She was immensely pleased that his nipple tightened beneath her touch and that his heart galloped at breakneck speed.
This man never failed to send her senses reeling, to make her lose her mind with crazy, intense desire. Just like their first clandestine time, she couldn’t deny the driving need to press close to him, to be with him. And like the first time, she could no more reveal her face than her burning love.
He moaned and leaned his forehead against hers. His fingers trailed blazing fire down her throat to the swell of her breasts. “Any chance I can return the favor?” His fingers slipped further inside, pushing under her lacy bra.
She hadn’t realized what fire she played with or what a storm she could unleash in either him or herself. Incredible moist heat flooded her, making her clothing unbearable. Wanton, erotic desires pulsed through her, and she yearned to feel his nipples pressed to hers, to again free the hard ridge in his jeans and feel it penetrate her. She rubbed against him, pressing her lips to his chest, tasting his salty, musky flavor. Oh, God! She wanted to show him her sketches so desperately she panted with lust. No other man had ever had this effect on her, and they were still fully clothed.
Several moments later, a flashlight beam spotlighted them. “Park’s closed for the night, folks. Move it out!”
Haley blinked. If not for the apartment lights and the headlights of exiting cars, it’d be black as the Everglades.
Cole cursed under his breath as he clasped her elbow in his fingers and guided her to his car. He lowered several spine-tingling kisses to her hair, cheeks, and lips, as they sauntered back.
All the way home, she warred with herself whether or not to invite him inside. She could make an excuse to go into her bedroom alone first, lock the door, and move the costume. Maybe she should even show it to him and confess her secret identity. She’d have to sooner or later, right?
She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, debating if she should tell him tonight or wait. Maybe he’d get a big kick out of the discovery. Or maybe he’d hate her for lying to him. Besides, she wanted to know if he was still fascinated with the other woman…other woman?
Now she was calling herself the “other woman”. Soon she’d be calling herself Sybil and Peggy and never know who she was. She’d steal Sher’s wigs and be a redhead one day, a raven-haired beauty the next, and Lady Godiva the day after. She’d kiss reality goodbye.
She had to get a grip and fast.
“You okay?” Cole stared in alarm.
To her horror, she realized she was gripping her head in her hands and rolling it. Straightening, she dropped her hands to her lap, smoothed her culottes over her legs, and tried to smile. “My eyes ache. They still throb sometimes.” It was a lame excuse, but the only one she could think of. It also gave her an out from inviting him upstairs.
“Do you need to go to the emergency room?” Concern tinged his voice.
Guilt washed over her. “Oh, no, no, no! It’s not that severe. I have some pain reliever in the medicine cabinet. I’ll be fine once I pop a couple of tablets and lie down.”
Since all the parking spaces were full, he pulled in front of her door and cut the engine.
When he started to get out, she panicked. “I’ll be fine. No need to torture ourselves since I’m too ill to do anything.”
“You sure?” His fingers skipped up her arm, sending jolts of electricity through her, torturing her with wanton desires.
She’d never been more uncertain in her life. “No.” A remorseful tone shaded her voice as she backed out of the car and closed the door, fluttering her fingers. The breeze whipped her hair into her face and played with her culottes. Rueful, disgusted with herself, she wiped a strand of hair out of her mouth.
Cole waited, watchful and diligent, as she entered her building safely.
She peeked out the hallway window and watched his car until it disappeared around the corner.
Chapter Six
Frustrated as hell, his cock straining against his pants, Cole cou
ldn’t settle down. He couldn’t watch television. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t even get interested in the computer.
A cold shower took the edge off his pain, yet he prowled around his apartment feeling less like sleeping than ever before in his life.
Thoughts of Haley and Catwoman tortured him. Was he so fickle that two women fascinated him simultaneously? Two women couldn’t be more different.
Swearing, he punched the couch and scared Merlin, his old scruffy tomcat, out of the room and under his bed. “Sorry, guy,” he mumbled. “You’re a tomcat. You must know how to juggle women without feeling guilty or confused.” If only he knew his Catwoman’s true identity. For all he knew, he might never see her again. The boys downtown might come up with nothing new. His trap might be a dismal failure.
What if he saw her again and was still fascinated? Would that be worse? Thousands of thoughts pounded in his brain. Confused emotions throbbed through him.
Outside, an engine revved. A motorcycle engine.
He froze, his ears perked, his heart racing, his cock flexing. Could it be Catwoman? The thought was farfetched, and yet this whole episode had been mind-boggling. He rushed to the balcony and looked over the railing.
Catwoman revved her engines, staring up at him. Shadows danced across her masked face and the wind toyed with her luscious auburn locks.
“Wait!” His blood pumping furiously, he slammed out his door and pounded down his stairs, two and three at a time, scared she would disappear before he could get to her. Wheezing, he slowed when he reached the front door. Not wishing to scare her away, he approached her cautiously.
She didn’t utter a syllable but patted the seat behind her seductively, and then crooked her finger.
He gulped. He’d never seen such a sexy, tempting finger in all his life. His groin hardened unbearably at the thought of riding behind her, grinding against those firm gorgeous buttocks so alluringly delineated in spandex. If he didn’t get his thoughts under tight rein quickly, he would make a fool of himself.