Susan Donovan

by Public Displays of Affection

  “I’m going to catch the end of Hank’s game.” Charlotte folded the apron and stuck in it the drawer. “Business has slowed down enough that you two can handle it. Have a good evening, everyone.”

  In a flash, she was out the back door and breathing again, feeling a surprisingly small amount of guilt for ditching snack bar duties. LoriSue and Jimmy were perfectly capable of selling hot dogs without her. Why did people always assume that she would rush in and fix things? Why did people always assume that they could screw up and she would pick up the slack?

  Maybe it was time for her to stop saying yes all the time.

  Charlotte found herself nearly running to Hank’s field, surprised when she sensed she had company. If it was Jimmy Bettmyer, she didn’t think she could be held responsible for her actions.

  It was Joe.

  He had no problem keeping up with her brisk stride. His legs were so much longer than hers that he seemed to be gliding along at a leisurely pace while she scurried. He smiled down at her.

  “Is Jimmy your boyfriend?”

  Charlotte hissed. “Oh, please.”

  “He seems quite smitten with you.”

  “He’s smitten by anything with two X chromosomes.” Charlotte sped up, noticing that Joe’s full paper cup was sloshing a bit. That pleased her. “Are you sure LoriSue isn’t your girlfriend?”

  Joe didn’t answer right away, and in the silence Charlotte found herself wondering if her original assumption was correct. Then Joe said in a flat voice, “I’ve decided to ask her to be my bride. I think it was the chutney.”

  Charlotte turned away so he couldn’t see her smile. So Joe Mills still had a sense of humor, did he? The realization made her heart jump. Then she reminded herself that Joe and his sense of humor were leaving town.

  “I’m plenty stable, Charlotte. You don’t have to worry about your kids around me.”

  She stopped walking. She looked up at him and frowned, and he frowned right back at her. A little voice in her head told her that this big man ought to terrify her—his eyes looked as cold as black steel; his jaw was set and his shoulders rigid—but for some reason she simply felt challenged by him.

  She puffed herself up. “You pulled a gun on me and threw me on the ground. You tell me you always hoped to find me, but you’re leaving anyway. In my dictionary, these things pretty much define the word unstable.”

  “I have a permit for that gun and I wish I could stay and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

  “I hate guns. I don’t believe they have any place in a residential neighborhood. You scared me to death. And I don’t want you to leave. You just got here.”

  His frown disappeared and his eyes softened. “I agree with you. About everything.”

  Charlotte huffed and started walking again, Joe at her side. Why was he following her?

  “Why do you have a gun, anyway?”

  “I’m used to living places where I need to protect myself.”

  “So where did you live before?”

  “I’ve moved around a lot since D.C.—the Southwest mostly.”

  “Are you going back there when you leave?”

  “Probably not.”

  Charlotte clomped up the aluminum steps of the bleachers, waving and saying hello to everyone. She took a seat at the top, and Joe sat down at her side. She turned to see him waiting for her next question.

  Charlotte wished he’d put her out of her misery and leave now. Leave the Little League field, leave town, leave her alone. But he continued to look at her with those intensely dark eyes touched with sadness.

  “So have you always been a writer?” The question was the best she could do.

  “No. I was just out of the army when we—” Joe paused, glanced around, then shot her a penetrating glance. “The day we met.”

  She looked away. Having this man sit next to her at her kid’s ball game was beyond surreal—it was painfully strange. How was she supposed to engage in small talk with someone she’d envisioned naked and aroused for thirteen straight years?

  She didn’t even have to look at him to picture every detail of his clothing. She knew perfectly well what he was wearing tonight—nicely fitted khaki hiking shorts, black leather sandals, and a black T-shirt that worked to accentuate his dark hair and eyes. He was wearing that gleaming little gold hoop in his left ear. “So what did you do after the army?”

  He cleared his throat. “I worked in the security industry mostly. Didn’t start writing until recently.”

  She turned toward him and looked down at his hands. They were a rich bronze, lean and big, yet they cradled the paper cup gingerly. She wondered why he hadn’t even taken a sip of his drink. She remembered what those hands felt like on her breasts.

  She shuddered.

  “Chilly?”

  “Nope. So, LoriSue says you write mysteries.”

  “I try.”

  “Are you famous? Should I recognize your name?”

  “I wish.”

  His leg brushed up against hers. The contact of the bristly dark hairs against her smooth skin was excruciating. She jerked her knee away.

  His legs were muscular and long and the same smooth, rich hue as the rest of him. Mills had to be an Anglicized version of some name the clerks at Ellis Island couldn’t pronounce, because this man was obviously something exotic.

  “Did you grow up around here, Joe?”

  “Nope. I grew up in Baltimore. Little Italy.”

  “You’re Italian?”

  She loved how his lips spread wide, pushing out the black goatee like bat wings, revealing the smile she’d first seen in a rearview mirror so long ago.

  That perfect smile had hypnotized her then. The imperfect one made her perspire now.

  “My father was Italian and my mother was Greek. A pretty lethal combination. And you?”

  Charlotte laughed. She’d been right about the name change. “Nothing anywhere near as interesting, sorry to say. I’m from solid Southern Baptist stock. A little bit of Scottish and English somewhere in the distant past. Boring.”

  “Not hardly, dumplin’.”

  She tried not to smile.

  “So tell me, Charlotte.” Joe’s words came out in a deep whisper that she heard loud and clear despite the noise of the crowd. “Why did you do it? And what did you mean when you said that after me, nothing else has ever been good enough?”

  It seemed she’d been neglecting her kid, because Hank had apparently just hit a homer and was rounding the bases and everyone was cheering but her own mother!

  Charlotte was being corrupted by the presence of Joe Mills. She’d thrown herself at him, dressed up for him, and now she was ignoring her children for him. She needed to get this over with so she could concentrate on her life again.

  “I want you, Joe.”

  Slowly, he turned to her. Both his black eyebrows were hovering way up on his forehead as he stared.

  “I need it. Bad.” She met his stare straight on. “I need you one more time before you leave. One more time before I die.”

  There it was. If she hadn’t proved it to herself before, it was obvious now. She was a slut. Half of her was relieved, and that part wanted to jump in his lap and kiss him so hard she broke all the rest of his teeth. The other half hoped her words would shock him, make him sputter and hem and haw and get up and leave her sitting there by herself the way she should be, a widow and a responsible mother.

  But Joe only laughed, and Charlotte was shocked by the contagious quality of the sound. She remembered that laugh. He’d laughed like that with her so long ago, when he was inside her and his hands were all over her and they were tumbling around on the ground and she was praying and crying and giggling all at the same time because of the shocking intensity of the pleasure. His laughter was the sound of pleasure to her still.

  She held her breath. She looked around the bleachers. She tried not to pay attention to how close he was and how good he smelled, because she felt another psychotic break co
ming on.

  “Hey! Thanks for my pop, Mr. Mills!”

  Matt squeezed his body between them and plopped down onto the bench, smiling at Charlotte in triumph as he took a big gulp of the forbidden beverage.

  Joe’s body vibrated from his scalp to his instep. The woman sitting next to him was Eve herself. And the idea of possessing her one last time before he left was as tempting as it was foolish. Who was he kidding? Did he really think he could get another sample of sweet Charlotte and then turn around and leave?

  Hell no.

  And he didn’t know which was worse—being hunted down by a madman or facing life without this woman.

  He listened to Charlotte lecture Matt on the evils of sweetened carbonated drinks while he enjoyed a leisurely look at everything she’d just offered him. God. Charlotte Tasker was all woman.

  She was still trim and petite but no longer a girl. She’d filled out, softened, and his fingers itched to touch her. Her hair was still shiny and her face full. There were fine lines at the corners of that delectable little pink mouth and crow’s-feet fanning out from those sultry gray eyes, but those were just signs that she’d smiled and laughed a lot over the years. Joe found comfort in that and said a silent thank-you to Kurt Tasker, because he’d clearly been good to her.

  Matt elbowed Joe and rolled his eyes as Charlotte finished her scolding. Poor kid. Not only had he endured a tongue-lashing from his mother, but he’d had to admit to Joe that he’d spied on him. It had all been innocent enough—watching him stack boxes and retrieve LoriSue’s gift baskets—but after all this he bet Matt would never scam for a soda or turn a pair of binoculars Joe’s way again.

  Hank’s team won the game by a score of 16–4, and the teams lined up at the plate to repeat the phrase “good game” dozens of times and shake hands. Parents began to stand, stretch, and gather their belongings.

  “Did you drive your Mustang to the game, Mr. Mills?”

  “Sure did. It’s the only car I got, kid.”

  “Can I ride home with you?”

  “That’s probably not a good idea.” Charlotte was up off the bench in a flash, grabbing Matt’s hand and pushing him past Joe into the aisle. “Good-bye, Joe. Have a nice evening. And good luck with your move.”

  With a shrug from Matt, they were assimilated into the throng and gone. Joe stayed in the bleachers for a while, watching parents hug their children and compliment them on their singles and catches. He watched the families walk to the parking lot.

  He sat perfectly still, elbows on knees and hands clasped in front of him. Charlotte’s abrupt departure stung quite a bit, he had to admit. But it was obvious that she wanted to keep her kids out of this. She was right, of course, and suddenly Joe couldn’t recall why he’d come here in the first place. He had no business here. This was not his life and it never would be. Steve and Reba Simmons had led this life once, and they’d never again be watching Daniel play a Little League game, would they?

  Joe felt heavy with exhaustion and pulled himself to his feet, joining the last few stragglers as they made their way to the cars. A man in a Volvo station wagon motioned for him to cross the county road while three kids in ball caps stared at him from the backseat.

  As Joe opened the car door, he had to laugh at himself. A month ago, he’d been ready to make the biggest bust of his career. He’d been inches from nailing Miguel Guzman as he personally handed over fifty kilos of cocaine in exchange for $5 million in cash.

  Tonight, he was a guy with a price on his head, a guy so lonely that he hung out at Little League games for kicks. A guy who was going crazy with desire for the one woman fate continued to deny him.

  Joe had a feeling that no matter what Roger said, if he didn’t leave this town right now—tonight—he’d soon be telling fate to fuck off and die.

  Chapter Twelve

  LoriSue leaned up against the cupboards and munched on a raw mushroom. “I have some news. Now don’t both you go fainting on me or anything, but I’ve decided to do some volunteer work for the Little League.”

  Charlotte glanced up from the marinade she was whisking. “Really? More than just your night at the snack bar?”

  “Yep. I’ve volunteered to redesign their Web site.”

  “I didn’t know you had experience with that, LoriSue,” Bonnie said from her seat at the kitchen table.

  “I just finished revamping the Sell-More site—and it looks fabulous, if I do say so myself—so I figured the Little League’s would be a snap. I’m going to take new photos and everything!”

  “Wow. That’s nice of you.” Charlotte dropped hunks of tofu into the marinade, covered the glass bowl with plastic wrap, and checked the clock. She had one hour and eight minutes to feed the kids and start the evening rush. As she rinsed bok choy, she ticked off the sequence of events in her head. She’d run Hank to ballet class, then take Matt to his game and make a quick stop at Kroger’s on the way back to town. Then she’d drop off the groceries at home, throw in a load of laundry, pack tomorrow’s lunches, and pick up Hank. They could both watch the end of Matt’s game.

  She made a mental note to bring a change of clothes for Hank, who refused to wear her ballet leotard at the ballpark. She said it made her look like a Miss Priss.

  Charlotte lifted the lid from the simmering brown rice, fluffed it with a fork, and replayed for the thousandth time every word she’d exchanged with Joe yesterday, every shared glance. She was dying here. She’d made it painfully clear what she wanted. All he had to do was come and get it. But she hadn’t heard from him today. This was torture.

  “… a damned sexy man, don’t you think?”

  LoriSue’s words jarred Charlotte from her thoughts. She put the lid back on the pot and cheerfully turned toward Bonnie and LoriSue, to find them staring at her expectantly.

  “Did I miss something?” Charlotte laughed as she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel.

  “I asked if you didn’t agree that Joe Mills was sexy.”

  At the sound of his name, Charlotte felt a flash of heat deep in her abdomen that began to percolate into her limbs. She supposed that answered that question. “Sure.” She tried to sound nonchalant. “He’s handsome enough.”

  Bonnie coughed politely.

  Then LoriSue crossed her arms under her unnaturally perky breasts and made a soft humming sound. “Well, Charlotte, I saw him walk over to the major field with you yesterday and sit down right next to you in the stands. What did you two talk about?”

  Charlotte busied herself with getting out the cutting board and swirling canola oil around in the wok. “We chatted about this and that. Nothing in particular. Would you like to stay for dinner, LoriSue?”

  “No, thanks. And I’m taking Justin out tonight, so he won’t be staying, either, believe it or not. We’re going for Italian and then we’re looking at a house.”

  “A house?” Bonnie nearly shouted. “You’re moving?”

  “Yep. It’s an end-unit three-bedroom, two-bath condo over at The Lakes. Fabulous. Skylights. Sunken living room. Hot tub. Landscaping included. Just got listed yesterday—perfect for me and Justin.”

  “Does Justin know about this?” Bonnie asked.

  LoriSue nodded.

  “And how is he with it?”

  “Fine.” She grabbed another mushroom. “Well, a little confused, I suppose, but I’ve told him I’m going ahead with the divorce. He understands. He’s a good kid. He’s—”

  The deep saw of Hoover’s bark made all three women crane their necks out the kitchen window.

  “Oh, my God! He’s here!” LoriSue teetered her way across the kitchen floor in her heels and whipped open the screen door to a startled Joe.

  He stood wide-eyed on the back patio, holding what looked like a cardboard box full of weeds.

  Charlotte let out a startled laugh and Joe looked past LoriSue’s blond head to offer her a shy grin. He held up the box so she could see its contents—honeysuckle vines.

  “Pardon me.” Joe looked somewh
at uncomfortable as the three kids pressed up against his back and the women gathered around him in the doorway. Hoover stopped barking just long enough to sniff the crotch of Joe’s jeans.

  “He won’t smell your butt if you give him something to eat,” Hank said.

  “Ice-cream cones are his favorite,” Matt added.

  “Yeah, you could rob this place blind if you gave him an ice-cream cone,” Justin said.

  “Come here, Hoov.” Charlotte grabbed the dog by his collar and hauled him inside, looking up at Joe in apology. Her heart skipped a beat the instant she saw those eyes—the same eyes that had haunted her soul for as long as she could remember were now literally on her doorstep. Her dream man was one step from being inside her house. He was one step away from forever blending fantasy with reality, and it shook her to the core.

  “Sorry about the dog,” she mumbled, hoping no one could see that she was rapidly unraveling in Joe’s presence.

  “Come on in!” LoriSue stepped aside and motioned Joe into the family room with a dramatic sweep of her red-nailed hand. “We were just talking about you!”

  “I… uh…” Joe looked from Charlotte to the box of dirt and vines, then back to Charlotte again. “I just wanted to tell you I was replacing the honeysuckle I damaged. Would you prefer that I plant these by the shed or would you like them somewhere else?”

  Charlotte made brief eye contact with Bonnie, and in her friend’s face she saw the wise advice to remain calm. It made her damn mad that Joe had this effect on her and that it was obvious to others. She took a deep breath and attempted to sound gracious, which was hard to do while wrestling with ninety pounds of dog.

  “That’s very kind of you, Joe. Right by the other bush would be great.”

  With a quick nod, he backed away from the door, and the kids adjusted their positions just enough to allow him to make a quarter turn.

  “I’ll help you dig,” Matt said.

  “Can we toss after?” Hank asked.

  “Kids!” Charlotte transferred Hoover’s control to Bonnie and stood up straight. “Give Mr. Mills some room to breathe, please. We have to eat and get ready for activities, anyway.”