Illegal Motion: A Loveswept Classic Romance

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Illegal Motion: A Loveswept Classic Romance Page 20

by Donna Kauffman


  “Are what?” He had to know. He was thirty-seven years old, and he had to know.

  “Are more intense,” she finished.

  She didn’t know what intense was, he thought. The way she was looking at him shook him down to his feet. That was intense.

  Someone bumped into him, and he realized they were standing in the concourse, traffic traveling around them. The physical attraction snapped off as if by a switch, and he immediately felt awkward, like a schoolboy talking with a girl for the first time.

  “Ah, I better get back up there,” Elaine said.

  He nodded. “Me too.”

  “I’ll get fries to cover my tracks.” She smiled slightly as she began walking over to the nearest concession stand.

  He followed her. “Why do you have to cover your tracks?”

  “Because my friends are nosy and my son usually is mortified by me. He’s thirteen. Kids embarrass easily at that age.”

  “Oh.”

  She got her fries in a large cup. She offered them to him, and because they smelled good and salty, he took one. It was fat and long—and hot.

  “There goes the cholesterol, right through the roof,” she quipped, before taking a bite of one herself.

  The fry tasted as good as it smelled, the salt melting in his mouth. He grinned at her. “They’re good.”

  “The best.” She cleared her throat. “Maybe you want to go up ahead of me. Otherwise they’ll think I’ve been nagging you and will tease me.”

  “And your son will be mortified.”

  “Because he thinks I’m a nag too. I’m actually a worrier. Really, though, use my friend for your suit. She’ll do a good job, and I’ll feel better.”

  “I suppose if I don’t, you’ll spill french fries down it.” The card she’d given him was burning a hole in his jacket pocket. That he wasn’t wearing the jacket at the moment didn’t matter. He knew the card was there, like a lure.

  She laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a woman laugh. He liked the sound of hers. He liked the nagging. Or worrying. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had worried over him, either. It was nice.

  He left her on the concourse, reluctantly, but with a small smile as he entered the stadium proper. He slipped on his slightly damp jacket and climbed the concrete steps to his seat. The small contingent above him, he saw, noticed him immediately. He realized he still had no idea who these three older women were and what their relationship was to Elaine Sampson. Nice name, he thought. Her son glanced at him, then looked back to the action taking place on the diamond. She was setting a fine example, he thought, because the boy seemed well mannered. He wondered what the father had been like.

  He settled down next to Ed again. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Just another homer, honey,” came a voice behind him.

  He turned slightly to see the black woman better. She was grinning knowingly at him. “Thanks.”

  He turned back around in time to see Elaine stroll out of the concourse entrance. She was munching on her french fries as innocently as any teenager. And she looked so damn good.

  “She bought french fries!”

  Howls of indignation went up behind him, along with vows to make Elaine share her goodies. Graham found himself smiling smugly. He’d gotten one first, when it was still hot.

  All of a sudden he heard a loud smack. The crowd was up and screaming. Graham stood more out of curiosity than interest. Another home run by one of the Phillies. He had to say the team was giving the fans their money’s worth tonight.

  He glanced over some heads to the aisle, expecting to see Elaine still making her way up the stairs. Instead, to his astonishment, she was standing in the middle of the aisle, next to a stranger, doing some kind of dance.

  As her hips rocked from side to side, she pointed her forefinger above her head, then brought it down diagonally across her body and up again, in counterpoint to her swaying hips. She did it with such abandonment that all kinds of images rocked through his brain, most of them requiring two bodies in a horizontal position. The people all around him started chanting, “Whoomp! There it is!” over and over as they did the same strange dance as Elaine.

  She was like no other mother he had ever known. Somehow she had roused an entire group into whatever ritual they were doing, and she hadn’t spilled one french fry in the process.

  He liked her for that too.

  Elaine knew exactly the moment when Graham Reed and his companion “suit” had left at the start of the eighth inning. It was as if a hard wall suddenly crumbled around her. She didn’t know why she was disappointed that he hadn’t stayed for the end of the game, nor did she understand why she had pushed so hard for him to take advantage of her offer. It was true that she needed to ensure Anthony learned to correct his mistakes and treat other people’s property with respect, but maybe she’d been too extreme this time.

  More important, Graham Reed was dangerous. He was too sophisticated for her, too smooth, too corporate. Even in the rest room he’d been composed, never showing anything beyond initially being startled. And afterward, when they’d stood together on the concourse …

  She wasn’t ready to think seriously about men again. Granted, there hadn’t been anyone about whom she could think seriously. Bill Voss, who taught eighth-grade math, was single and nice, yet he had never caused a ripple of attraction in her. But this Graham Reed, he could light fires without moving a muscle. That sort of man didn’t instill notions of stability in a woman. Elaine told herself she should be grateful he thought she was a klutzy nut.

  “Strike three!” Cleo shouted. The fans roared to their feet as the last out of the top of the ninth inning was made. The Phillies had won. Elaine’s attention went back to where it belonged.

  She rose, applauding with the rest of the members of the Widows’ Club.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Samantha Kane’s The Devil’s Thief

  Excerpt from Adrienne Staff’s Paradise Cafe

  Excerpt from Linda Cajio’s The Perfect Catch

 

 

 


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