All of Me

by Jennifer Bernard

  And then they were on each other again. She opened her mouth to him, meeting his challenge with need and surrender. He seemed to consume her, exploring her mouth with long sweeps of his tongue that left sparkling trails of heat in their wake. He tasted so wonderful, like summer days, like fireflies and bicycling down dusty back roads, like every time she’d laid on her back in a meadow and dreamed about the future.

  Little whimpers rose from her throat. She pulled her mouth from his, her cheek brushing across his stubbly chin, its roughness sending more shocks through her. His grip loosened and she slid down his body until she stood on the lake bottom, pressed against him from head to toe. The huge bulge in his briefs made her feel a little faint.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he whispered as she nibbled on his jaw. She couldn’t help it; she wanted to eat him up. “You’re making me crazy. We can’t do this here.”

  “Shh.” She didn’t want to talk. She wanted this all-consuming, crazy conflagration that she’d never even imagined before. Tugging at his shoulders, she rose on tiptoe, brushing her lips against his again.

  With a heartfelt groan, he gave in, claiming her mouth with a deep, hot hunger. She pressed against him, electric currents racing through her veins as their tongues entwined, stroking against each other in a wild dance, desire rising with every breath, every touch, every sigh and tremble.

  When his warm hand cupped her breast, with its water-saturated bra, she nearly jumped out of her skin. His thumb shifted the edge of her bra to expose her nipple, which tightened in the fresh air. The sensory overload of wet skin and hot touch made her gasp. Her bra slid off her shoulders and Caleb dropped his gaze to her chest, holding her breasts in his big hands. If she didn’t faint dead away from pleasure, it was because she wanted to keep feeling that pleasure. It filled her mind and body in a hot, incredulous rush and—

  “Hey, isn’t that Caleb Hart?” a voice called out. Caleb tore himself away from her and swung around, shielding her with his body. Sadie, gasping at the sudden shift in circumstances—no, noooo!—covered her chest with her hands then looked around wildly for her bra. There it was, floating away with the current. Fireballs!

  She dove into the water and crouched behind Caleb’s legs so no one could see her. A motorboat floated about thirty yards away, carrying three fishermen. Well, two of them were fishing. The other man was holding up a smartphone. Oh my God. A smartphone. Slutty Sadie was about to get caught with a Catfish star—topless. If this got out, all the talk would flare up again. Ten times worse.

  “Hey, man,” called Caleb. “Not cool.”

  “You’re the new guy on the Catfish, aren’t you?”

  “Do you mind? My friend and I are having a conversation.”

  “Bet you’re conversing about that bra that’s about to wash up in the mud.” They all laughed and someone said something about those crazy Catfish.

  One of the fishermen chimed in. “Who’s that with you? Someone caught herself a live one.”

  Caleb growled; Sadie could feel him shake with fury. She was afraid he’d launch himself at them and her cover would be gone.

  “Don’t move,” she hissed. “Don’t let them see me.”

  “You have no idea how much I want to maul them right now,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Please. If they find out who I am . . . it’ll be bad.”

  After a short pause, his voice softened. “I won’t let anyone see you. Just stay where you are. But don’t drown.” He addressed the men. “Come on, guys. This is a private moment. I’m not a baseball player right now, I’m just a guy.”

  “They got hotel rooms for that sort of thing.”

  Peeking around Caleb’s legs, Sadie saw that no one was moving. Something slimy slid against her shin. She wanted to scream and jump out of the water but made herself stay still.

  “Are you gentlemen baseball fans?” Caleb was saying. “How about front row seats for the whole family? All three of you.”

  “Now that’s outright bribery.”

  “Just a little gesture of appreciation for doing the right thing and letting us get back to shore. I’ll even throw in some Cracker Jacks. And some signed baseball cards for the kids. Anyone have kids? Grandkids, maybe?”

  Biting her lip, Sadie watched, agonized, as the men murmured to each other.

  “Fine. You get to stay out of the papers this time.” The older man lowered his smartphone. The others craned their necks, trying to see behind Caleb, but Sadie pressed her face to his legs so they couldn’t possibly get a good look at her.

  Not until she heard the speedboat chug across the lake did she dare leave her protected crouch.

  Caleb helped her up, fury still simmering in every line of his body. “I’m sorry about that.”

  She sloshed toward the shore, her arms crossed tightly across her breasts. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. This was a huge, huge mistake.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Caleb called after her. “Before they saw us, it was pretty much the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time.”

  A thrill shivered through her. But she couldn’t afford to soften. She’d nearly gotten shot right back into the living nightmare of the past year.

  “I need to get out of here,” she told him. “This isn’t good.”

  “Why are you so upset? A couple of crazy kids kissing in the lake. It must happen all the time. What’s the big deal?”

  Sadie reached the spot where her bra had snagged on a low birch branch trailing in the mud. She wanted to grab it, but that would mean revealing her breasts again, and she couldn’t risk that. No more exposure—of any kind. “That was my favorite bra,” she told Caleb. “Can you get it?”

  He plucked it from its muddy nest and picked algae off it. “I have fond feelings for it too.”

  She wanted to snatch it from his grasp, but kept her hands tightly clamped to her front. “Put it in my car, please.”

  With a quizzical glance, he tossed the bra through the open window of her car, then snagged his warm-up jacket from his pile of clothes, strode back to Sadie and wrapped it around her. When she gave a huge shiver, he ran his hands up and down her arms, creating warm tingles everywhere he touched. “What’s going on here? Are you worried because of your job? Mayor Trent wouldn’t like you consorting with a Catfish?”

  She stared at him, struck dumb. She hadn’t even thought about that part of the situation.

  “Yes. That’s it,” she said in a tight voice. “I’m supposed to be doing a job here. I seem to have forgotten about that. I have to get dressed. Turn around, please.”

  He turned around in a little circle so he ended up right back where he’d started, looking straight at her, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

  “Very funny.” It would be funnier if every doomsday scenario she could imagine weren’t running through her mind.

  “Couldn’t resist.” He cupped her cheek in his palm. She fought against the comfort that big warm hand offered. “You shouldn’t worry so much about Mayor Trent. I think she’s cooler than she seems.”

  When she answered with a stony stare, he stepped away to pick up her little pile of clothing. He handed it to her—she finally took her hands from her chest to clutch her clothes against her body—then turned his back. “I promise I won’t look. I’ve caused you enough trouble for one day. I’ll meet you in the car when we’re both dressed.”

  “Thank you.”

  He didn’t break his promise once. She knew, because she stole about a thousand glances from over her shoulder, under her arm, however she could manage. The sight of Caleb Hart, muscles flexing smoothly under his wet skin, pulling on his jeans and T-shirt . . . well, it would have to keep her going for a while, because they really couldn’t repeat this mistake anytime soon.

  If Mayor Trent found out about this, she’d be severely disappointed. This was bad on so many levels.

  But oh, the dreams she was going to have tonight.

  In the car, rattling down the
gravel road, her clothes clinging to her still-damp skin, she addressed something that had been bothering her ever since he’d said, I’ve caused you enough trouble.

  “Caleb, don’t feel guilty about this. Promise me.”

  His jaw set, and she knew she’d hit a sore spot.

  “I mean it. It wasn’t your fault. If anything, it was mine. I brought you here, I went in the lake of my own choice, I knew fishermen love this place.”

  “I goaded you into taking off your clothes. Then I got carried—” He broke off, pressing his lips together.

  “Carried away. I know. So did I. I don’t want you shouldering all the blame yourself.”

  He stayed silent, his face slanted toward the other window so she couldn’t make out his expression.

  “You carry the whole world on those shoulders, don’t you?” she said softly.

  “No. Just the important things, like watching out for the girl I’m with and . . . what’s that on your shirt?”

  She twisted around. A tiny, slimy brown creature clung to the sleeve of her red t-shirt. She gave an involuntary shriek, just the way she had back in her school days. Before she could take her hands off the wheel, Caleb reached over and plucked it off her sleeve.

  He peered at it, turning his palm this way and that. “Horn-toed slug?”

  “Yes,” she said in a strangled voice.

  “Stop the car. I’ll find a nice leaf for it.”

  Speechless, she watched the big ballplayer slide out of her car, cradling the slug in one hand. He walked a few steps, placed it carefully on a nest of fallen birch leaves, then watched it for a moment. Looking up, he caught her eye. “You don’t like them hurt, right?”

  “Right. ‘Save Our Slugs.’ That’s my motto.”

  But as they drove away, she couldn’t help wondering who would save her . . . from falling for him.

  Chapter 8

  HER MOTHER WAS already home when Sadie got back; she’d parked her old brown van as if the driveway was just a suggestion. When Sadie was little, she’d loved their little pink house; now it looked dingy and broken-down. But her mother resisted change of any sort, including things like exterior paint and a much-needed new handrail.

  “Mom?” Sadie stepped into the front hall, which was lined with boxes of old magazines, catalogues, and newspapers that her mother used in her decoupage and other crafts projects. It was probably a fire hazard, but since her interest in art was the only thing that brightened her mother’s mood, Sadie considered it worth the risk.

  “In the kitchen¸ sugarpie.”

  Evening light slanted through the windows, giving all the appliances a rosy glow. Brenda Merritt sat in her fuzzy bathrobe at the table, her long hair in a loose knot as she sorted through mail, an empty glass at her elbow.

  “How was work?” she asked, looking up from a Restoration Hardware catalogue.

  “Great,” Sadie answered, as she always did. Her mother couldn’t handle problems of any sort.

  “That’s nice, sugar. It’s good to keep your mind off things. Think about something that’s not going to break your heart.”

  Okay then; not a good day for her mom. “Did any law school catalogues come?” Right away, she winced, knowing she’d picked the wrong question. Her mother hated any mention of law school—it would take her so far away—but Sadie just couldn’t let go of that one wisp of a dream. She’d requested mailings from several of the top schools, just because she liked the glossy, studious world they depicted.

  “Don’t see anything like that, but you can look through here.” Brenda sniffed. “I don’t know why you think about something so out of your reach. That’d be like me goin’ to the Oscars. You should be more practical, Sadie. Stick with what you got.”

  Sadie set her jaw, shifting her attention to the stack of mail, looking for anything law-school-ish, like brick buildings or serious faces.

  “How was your day?” she asked her mother.

  “Oh, fantabulous. Mrs. Wade came through my register.”

  Well, that certainly explained her mother’s bad mood. “Did she say anything?”

  “Not to me, she didn’t. She talked on her phone the whole time about a barbecue they’re throwing. Bought a whole buttload of chicken wings.”

  Sadie briefly imagined the Wades’ guests coming down with salmonella, then scolded herself for the mean thought.

  “She kept mentioning Hamilton’s new girlfriend. Said he’s crazy about her. Over and over.”

  “Good. Maybe he’ll forget that he got dumped by a nobody like me.”

  Brenda picked up her glass, realized it was empty, and slammed it down with a click. Her chin wobbled. “How many times did I tell you to stay away from boys like that?”

  And how many times did she have to admit she’d picked a mean, spoiled boy? Didn’t girls have the right to fall in love with the wrong guys? If her mother knew what she’d just been doing at the lake with a here-today, gone-tomorrow baseball player, she’d throw a fit. “You warned me,” she repeated, for probably the hundredth time. “I didn’t listen. But really, Mom—”

  “You’d better be listening now. You’re always so stubborn, Sadie Merritt. You think you know everything, and now you keep talking crazy about going to law school. I worry about you, Sadie. I really worry.”

  Sadie abandoned the pile of mail, and headed for the door. “It doesn’t matter what I do, you’re still going to worry! About everything! I’ll be in the Chevy if you need me.”

  Brenda called after her, “Do you know how weird that sounds? Who spends their time hanging out in an old car? You’re such a strange girl. No wonder I worry so much.”

  Blocking out her mother’s familiar complaints, she hurried out the door and headed for her favorite spot in the world. A 1964 Chevy station wagon sat in the far corner of the yard, shaded by an old live oak tree. It had belonged to her long-gone father. The car, which didn’t even run anymore, had been her safe haven when she was little, and again when the Hamilton nightmare unfolded. It held a nostalgic comfort for her even now, at the age of twenty-three.

  She threw herself onto the comfy old back seat, which served as a study room, a bedroom when her mom had guests, and a place to dream. She felt horrible for snapping at her mother, after everything she’d put her through—everything she had caused with her bad judgment in dating a Wade. But her mother kept going over the same worries, over and over, no matter what she did or said. Wasn’t there more to life than worry?

  I’ll make it up to her. Popcorn and an AMC marathon later.

  Stretching out on her back, her hands folded under her head, Sadie gazed at the graceful, drooping branches drifting in the slight breeze. Sun-warm air curled around her cheeks.

  And then she was back in the lake, wrapped in Caleb’s arms, his hot mouth on her as if she were the most wonderful thing in the world.

  In the Catfish bullpen, Caleb went into his windup, reared back and let fly a 97 mile per hour zinger into Mike Solo’s glove.

  “That’s real good,” Mitch the pitching coach called out. “Nice heat.”

  “Painted the inside corner,” Mike agreed. “You still got it, Hart. No matter what SI says.”

  Caleb set his teeth. The guys hadn’t stopped ragging him about that story, but he didn’t mind too much. At least word hadn’t gotten out about him kissing Sadie at the lake. She’d seemed so worried about people knowing, which made him determined to shield her from gossip. She brought out his fierce, protective side, which he usually saved for his family. But Sadie . . . Sadie was special. And if he doubted that, all he had to think about was that kiss.

  Hottest thing he’d ever experienced. And it was just a kiss. Talk about a mind-blower.

  “Again, Caleb. Fastball low and away this time.”

  The ball was back in his hand. He threw it again before he even thought about it, still remembering how her mouth felt opening under his, alive with eager sweetness. Like drinking honey straight from the hive.

  Wham. The ball
thumped into Solo’s glove. He whistled, rising to his feet. “Damn, Hart. What’d you do, kick it up a gear?”

  That felt good.

  “Stop jabbering and throw it back.”

  Solo tossed the ball back and settled into his crouch. After a glance at Mitch, the catcher signaled for a changeup.

  Caleb fixed the target in his mind, adjusted his grip, and let fly the best changeup of his life.

  Mike whooped. “That’s it, Mitch. We got our boy back.”

  Caleb grinned. Energy flowed through him, fast and furious. He could pitch all day and all night feeling like this. Kilby might think the Catfish belonged to them, but the whole purpose of a Triple A team was to get players ready for the Show, and at this point Caleb topped the list of guys the Friars wanted back on their forty-man roster. All he wanted was to prove he was ready for that.

  Mike slung an arm over his shoulder as they left the bullpen and ambled across the field toward the dugout. “Take that, Sports Illustrated.”

  “In your face.” God, it felt good. The groundskeepers were reapplying the chalk on the lines. Bright white against pure green grass—the colors of summer. He soaked in the sight.

  “Word up, dude. Me and a couple other guys got a call from a local reporter about some crazy-ass petition against the Catfish. Funniest thing you ever saw. It calls us morally depraved and some other shit. I think they’re making one of those oddball ‘life in the minor leagues’ stories out of it. Think I should tell them about my vow of celibacy?”

  “No way. You’ll have every girl in town gunning for you. Everyone likes a challenge.”

  “Exactly. I’ll have my pick come September.”

  “You dog.” They trotted into the dugout, where Caleb sat on the bench to pick the dirt out of his cleats.

  “Anyway, they might call you, even though you’re new here. Check your e-mail. PR department sent us all a direct order to keep our mouths shut.”

  “Don’t need to tell me twice.”

  As Mike left through the dugout door, Caleb pulled out his cell and called Sadie. “Word’s out about the petition.”