by Cathryn Fox
Adam blinked in startled surprise. No one had ever told him to shush – especially not a woman. He watched her blue eyes mist up. “We can’t let that music go to waste.” Plucking the paring knife free of her fingers, he pulled her into his arms. His hands mapped the curve-hugging Henley, molding her body against his, as he moved expertly with the rhythm of the ballad.
“This is terrific,” she chuckled softly in his ear. Seemingly of their own volition, her fingers played amid the dark hair that curled against his shirt collar. Her cheek nestled against the curve of his neck. She became intoxicated by the scent of him. “Another fantasy checked off my bucket list.” Samantha made a valiant attempt to keep her tone light and breezy. “I’ve always wanted to dance in my kitchen with a potential Fred Astaire.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The warmth of her breath in his ear triggered an instant response. His body hardened. The ache in Elvis’ voice suddenly echoed his own wants and needs. He needed to get her closer. He wanted to feel and taste every inch of her gorgeous body. His hands splayed across her back, pushing her full breasts firmly against his broad chest.
Her own breathing grew rapid, shallow. Samantha willed her brain to get control of her reactions. She ordered her heart to stop pounding; to move from her throat back to her chest. She searched for her voice to say something. Anything. To snap the moment.
Not a word escaped. She ordered her blood to stay frigid and stop its heated, sinuous flow. She willed all her senses to remain unresponsive. But her body ignored her every directive.
Adam began to whirl her rapidly around until she was dizzy and clinging tightly to his shoulders for support. His eyes darkened in response to his own intense physical awareness. He focused on her softly parted lips. His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her closer as his mouth moved slowly down toward hers. She knew he was going to kiss her. She felt her body aching to make that intimate connection.
Then they heard the sound of giggling from the kitchen doorway and looked over to find Mimi and Marc eying them with interest. Adam’s arms dropped slowly away and she nervously pushed back her hair.
“Isn’t it time for us to go home for the picnic yet, Sam?” Mimi asked anxiously. “We don’t want to be late.”
“Just about, darling.” Samantha smiled at the pair. “Why don’t you get your tote bag and we’ll be right out.” Clearing her throat, she adjusted her glasses, her forehead furrowed. “I’ve got to be getting to that picnic I told you about.” Samantha snapped a plastic lid over the salad bowl and tried to think. She didn’t know what to do with Adam. She hadn’t expected him to stay. But she didn’t want him to go. Should she invite him? Or should she…
“Let me give you a hand.” Adam took charge of the two six packs of beer that were sitting on the counter.
They made quite a procession through the woods. The two children anxiously ran ahead when they spotted their father. “Hi, Sam!” Carl Edwards lifted the laughing children in a giant bear hug. “Did they give you any trouble?”
“Perfect angels,” she told him with a smile, watching the pair run into the house to find their mother.
“Looks like you had a little help keeping the ‘dynamic duo’ under control,” Carl commented, looking with interest at her companion.
Samantha laughed. “Adam Rourke, this is Carl Edwards.”
“Say, this is terrific!” Carl exclaimed, relieving Adam of the beer and shaking hands. “This will even up the football game. You never mentioned you were bringing anyone.”
“Am I?”
“You are.” Adam stated positively, his tone and smile made her feel quite breathless.
“You heard the man, Carl, give him the fire pit digging detail.” She laughed and left them to their work, heading up to the house with her salad.
Chapter Six
“One salad ready for tossing,” Samantha announced, the back door of the Edwards’ raised-ranch style house banging shut behind her.
“How did my little darlings behave?” Inquired Diane Edwards, a slender oval-faced brunette, who was busy coating chicken parts with barbecue sauce.
“They were perfect as usual. I had a little help keeping an eye on them at the orchard today.”
“Oh?” Diane looked up with interest. “Is that the tall, rugged-looking guy you just left with Carl?”
“You’ve been peeking out windows again!” Samantha accused with a grin. “But, yes, that’s the one. Adam Rourke.”
“He’s not the guy from your night class you’ve been dodging?”
Samantha shook her head. “Adam is the judge’s friend. The one I told you was coming up to be his best man.”
“I thought you said he was a dilapidated old codger with one foot in the grave,” her neighbor accused.
She laughed and wandered over to the kitchen window. “I got quite a shock myself when I met him on Friday. We didn’t hit it off too well at first. He showed up Saturday morning to apologize and then again today.”
“That sounds promising.” Diane covered a large pan with aluminum foil, before grinning at her friend.
Samantha shrugged, gazing out the open window to watch Adam and Carl digging the fire pit with much laughter.
“Is he staying for the barbecue?”
“Yes. He practically invited himself,” Samantha answered musingly. “I didn’t expect him to stay the afternoon. I guess I was a little rude about not extending an invitation.”
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid we’d embarrass you,” came the mock-indignant response.
Samantha gave Diane an exaggerated grimace before flopping into a nearby chair. “It’s just that Adam moves in an entirely different world from the rest of us.” Her finger traced the wood grain design on the table top. “And don’t accuse me of reverse snobbery, either. He can have his pick of a hundred different rich socialites and probably has,” she added ruefully. “I don’t understand why he keeps turning up on my doorstep unless it’s my charm and personality,” she finished on a wry note.
“And you don’t think that’s it?” Diane queried thoughtfully, watching her friend with interest. “That’s what I like about you, Sam, you’re completely without affectation. You don’t even realize the effect you have on people.”
“You are very good for my ego.”
“You could use a bigger one,” Diane stated firmly. “I’ve known you and Lucy for, what seven years. Both of you had a knack for helping everyone and never reaping any rewards for yourselves. Look at all the nonsense you take from Janine just because you like the judge,” she continued forcefully. “Maybe Adam is interested in you. Why don’t you just wait and see?” Her lips pursed. “You haven’t even dated since –”
Samantha held up a hand. “And I’m not looking for a date. We are not dating. Definitely don’t want a relationship. I’ve got enough on my plate and now that Lucy’s gone…” They both turned at the sound of the kitchen door opening, and six more of their neighbors entered carrying picnic supplies.
“We’ve arrived en masse,” Kathy Lewis laughed, while they all jockeyed for positions in the small kitchen.
“Who is the tall, dark-haired hunk outside?” Pam Spaulding inquired with a pointed look in Samantha’s direction.
She laughed. “It’s easy to tell you’re the one with the teen-aged daughter, Pam.”
“Adam spent the day helping Sammy babysit my two dynamos,” Diane informed the newly arrived group.
“Well, well, well. Don’t tell me you’re going to join Lucy and bite the matrimonial dust this year?” Nancy Somers chided her friend.
“I just met the man on Friday.” Samantha grinned good-naturedly, knowing the ribbing she was going to get from her friends. Thankfully, the constant barrage of well-intentioned questions was interrupted by a shout from Carl Edwards, calling them all outside to get the football game started.
“I think we better go over the rules to acquaint Adam and refresh everybody else’s memory,” Al Lewis told the group when they had
fully assembled on the sandy beach at the rear of the house. “We play ten-minute quarters with a five-minute half-time break.”
“Why such exact timing?” Adam asked interestedly.
“Because that’s how long it takes the chicken to barbecue,” Carl called from the grill, where he was arranging the main course on the hot coals.
“We usually don’t have to lay a hand on the women. They are naturally clumsy,” Al intoned dryly, which brought a chorus of indignant protests from the eight female players.
“Not this year, darling,” Kathy sweetly informed her husband. “While you boys have been drooling over the scantily clad cheerleaders that decorate the TV screens, we’ve been making a study of the plays.”
“Of course, we can always change the rules if by some remote chance they do get any points,” Jim Spaulding put in with a boyish grin.
“Where are all the little ones?” Diane inquired with motherly concern.
“The older kids are babysitting the younger ones. They’re having a sand castle contest farther down the beach,” Craig Beaumont told her and the other women. “We don’t want you to come up with any excuses when you lose.”
“Who’s your captain?” Carl inquired, rejoining the group. Samantha felt herself being pushed forward. “Call it, Sam,” he told her taking a coin from his pocket and tossing it in the air.
“Heads.”
“You got it!”
“We’ll take the ball the second and last quarters,” she told him after due consideration and returned to the women for a brief strategy huddle.
The first half of the football game went as expected. The men, with superior muscle power and dexterity, totaled an alarming number of points during the first quarter. They kept the ball in the air and managed to outmaneuver the women at every turn without laying a hand on them. It was now half time. The eight men were relaxing on the sand and laughing over their impending victory, cold beers in hand. The women had collapsed about a hundred feet away, trying to regain their composure and mapping out some kind of strategy for a show of feminine strength no matter how trivial it might be!
“The problem is those guys are just too darn heavy to bring down. I broke three fingernails!” Annie Beaumont wailed.
“I know,” groaned Samantha, “there’s just got to be a way to throw them off balance a little so we can get a few points.”
“You realize this has ceased being a friendly game and turned into war!” Pam Spaulding asserted dangerously.
“You are right!” Diane interjected. “We can’t let them trounce us like this.”
“Just listen to them laughing over there,” Carol Gordon grimaced. “We’ll never live this down.”
“Say, all that laughing just gave me an idea,” Mary Charleston said eagerly, her seven companions looked at her as though she had grown an extra head. She laughed at their expressions. “Doug is very ticklish and since he seems to be carrying the ball most of the time, maybe instead of trying to tackle we should try to tickle!”
“Mary, you are a genius,” Annie agreed. “Craig’s ticklish too. The shock alone should at least give us a fighting chance. How about the rest of the husbands?”
All the other wives agreed. Diane turned to Samantha, “How about Adam. Is he ticklish?”
Glad that the dusky light covered some of the flush on her cheeks, she managed a slightly strangled “I don’t know—yet!” causing her companions to burst into a delighted gale of laughter.
“Now what clever plot do you suppose those beautiful devious minds are hatching up now?” Craig queried his cohorts.
“Remember last year?” Jim reminded him with a grin.
“I’ll say,” Craig reminisced fondly. “But it’s too cold for that this time of year.”
“Too cold for what?” Adam looked expectantly from one man to another.
“Well,” Jim told him, “we held the picnic the end of August last year because Craig was getting married in October. Anyways, the women were losing badly and getting desperate to gain even one point.”
Doug picked up the story. “They decided if they could distract our attention they could make a few points. So they all went and put on their bathing suits for the second half.”
“That must have been distracting, to say the least,” Adam grinned, his brain instantly remembering Samantha’s polka dotted bikini.
“Oh, it was!” Bill Gordon chuckled. “They even managed to make three touchdowns. It was great fun to tackle them.”
They all laughed. Carl, who was returning from his cooking chores, reset his wristwatch alarm and called: “Let’s go, ladies, half-time is over.”
“Okay, we’re all set,” Samantha called, brushing the sand off her jeans. “Now listen, everybody understands what we’re doing. Just keep a sharp eye on who’s got the ball. Let’s go!” They shouted and laughingly made their way toward the eight masculine figures already set for another skirmish.
Al snapped the ball as expected to Doug, who thinking he had nothing to fear, made his way in a leisurely fashion toward the designated goal line. The rest of the women managed to distract the other men, while Mary angled directly toward her husband. Expecting a feeble attempt at a tackle, Doug was startled to find himself on the sand with the football no longer in his possession!
The women were screaming as Mary easily skirted down the sidelines, making their very first touchdown.
“What the hell happened to you?” Jim asked running to Doug’s side.
“Don’t ask!” Doug retorted, brushing himself off. “It won’t happen again.”
But it did. Mary was able to surprise him and the women were hysterical with laughter over their second touchdown.
“How did you manage this time?” Diane demanded when they reformed their huddle.
“I found another spot to tickle,” Mary giggled and they all convulsed with laughter.
“All right, we’ve only got time for one more play in this quarter,” Carl told them, rechecking his watch. “We’ll let Adam carry the ball instead of fumble-fingers here,” he said, indicating a sheepish Doug, who had refused to tell them exactly how he lost the ball.
Oh, God, Samantha thought with a groan, wouldn’t you know Adam would get the ball! She’d had little physical contact with him, but she had an idea that her luck was about to change. Taking a deep breath, she headed Adam off while the rest of the women blocked their husbands. Samantha managed to hedge around Adam’s side and nip him just below his ribs, the way Mary suggested.
Adam, however, did not react. He clamped a vice-like arm around Samantha’s waist, deftly sweeping her along with him. “So that’s what you were up to,” he grinned, carelessly tossing the ball over the goal line and drawing Samantha close.
“Oh, wouldn’t you just know you wouldn’t be ticklish,” she grumbled crossly, the laughter in her eyes belying her mock anger.
“Oh, I am,” Adam slanted, “just not there.” He turned her loose and pushed her toward her waiting companions.
“What happened, Sam?” Asked a curious Mary.
“I have to get the one who isn’t the least bit ticklish,” she reported to the interested group.
“Well, we’ve got the ball for the last quarter,” Diane said. “So let’s do our best and try not to get steam-rolled.”
Their game plan was interrupted by Doug’s dulcet tones informing them the rest of the game was to be played ‘no holds barred’!
With a unified groan, they took up their positions. Samantha snapped the ball to Mary, who barely managed to move three feet before she was soundly flattened by husband Doug. Their next two attempts met the same dismal fate.
“How about trying an aerial pass, Sam?” Annie inquired, rubbing her bruised posterior after Craig managed to knock her down.
“Well, it’s our last chance before we go down in the agony of defeat and broken fingernails,” Samantha told her friends.
“Let’s try anything!” Diane grumbled.
Pam hiked the ball to Sa
mantha who swung her arm back giving the ball a good heave toward Mary’s running figure. The ball had barely left her hand, when Adam’s shoulder caught her square in the stomach, tumbling them both to the ground. He managed to cradle her head with his large hands, his shoulder forming a protective barrier for her glasses when everyone laughingly piled on top of them.
Adam decided he liked this position – on top of her. He could feel every inch of the front of her body against the front of his. Her breasts were pressed tight against his chest; his leg had slid intimately between hers, his hips moved subtly across her pelvis. She wasn’t pushing him away. Instead he felt her hands wiggle up the front of his shirt and slide under this collar.
“I hate to tell you all this,” Samantha groaned loudly from somewhere near the bottom of the group. “But I do not have the football!”
“Are you sure?” Adam questioned, his groping hand was halted by her indignant squeal.
“Trust me, that is not the football!” She poked his chest, when his palm failed to leave her breast.
It was Mary’s triumphant cheer of success reaching everyone’s ears that caused the pile of bodies to move.
“Come on, up you go,” Adam told her, easily pulling her to her feet and helping to brush the sand from her clothes. He slung a sinewy arm about her shoulders as they followed the other couples back to the picnic tables. Samantha found she was very content to bask in the warmth of the hard body pressed in close contact with hers.
In no time at all the picnic table was groaning with a wide variety of tempting salads, relishes, rolls, baked beans, and the succulent barbecued chicken. The children’s plates were fixed first and soon the constant chatter subsided into quiet enjoyment of the delicious food.
“Well, ladies, you may not be able to play football, but you certainly outdo yourselves in the kitchen,” Jim Spaulding remarked with satisfaction. A chorus of amens followed.
Craig Beaumont returned to the group and began to strum his guitar.
“It’s a perfect night to sing Shine on Harvest Moon,” Samantha suggested hopefully.