Players

by Rachel Cross

  Chapter Nine

  A little over two hours later, Keila met Jake at the corner of her house. He leaned over the passenger seat, opened the door to his sexy, blue-with-white stripes ‘65 Shelby, and Keila climbed in, feeling like a sneaky teenager.

  “Hey,” she muttered.

  “Hey,” he said as soon as their eyes met. He then quickly looked away and pulled back out onto the street, his posture rigid.

  “Are you having second thoughts?” she asked.

  “No,” Jake sighed. “But I should be.”

  “Then maybe you should just stop here and I can walk back home. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not having second thoughts,” he assured her, more firmly this time.

  “Okay, then, before we get too far, just one more thing.” Taking a deep breath, Keila voiced her one small, but important request. “Just promise me you won’t kiss me, Jake. I’m notorious for my self-control. Heck, I was dumped for it, but you need to promise me you won’t kiss me. I believe you’ll keep your word.”

  Jake turned to her then and smiled a slow smile, his whole demeanor loosening up. “I promise I won’t kiss you,” he paused, “unless you kiss me first.”

  “Like I said, that won’t be a problem. It’ll just be you, working on your house, and me, playing my violin, just two friends, or ex co-workers or whatever it is we are, keeping each other company while we take a break and get away from it all,” Keila’s voice trailed off as she looked out the window.

  Soon they were whizzing down I-57, heading west to Rock Falls. As soon as they’d left the city, she relaxed.

  They stopped at an out-of-the-way Wal-Mart where Jake put the hood of his jacket so far up over his head it nearly covered his eyes. Keila laughed. Keeping his head low so as not be recognized, they had a surprisingly good time just zipping the shopping cart around the supermarket section, trying to decide who would cook what. In honor of Thanksgiving, they decided on turkey everything; turkey bacon and sausages for breakfast, turkey ham sandwiches at lunch, and ground turkey for a Thanksgiving lasagna dinner because they couldn’t find a turkey small enough for just the two of them.

  By the time they finished shopping and were back on the road, Keila was glad she’d agreed to the harebrained scheme. Every mile of road brought further relief. It had been years since she’d taken time away for anything.

  Jake asked her about her parents, her sister, and her niece. And he really listened. She told him how her super-smart and responsible sister had fallen hard for Chris, Mia’s father, when they’d met as sophomores in college. “I think Tania was just yearning for the same kind of love our parents had, to fill the void our dad left,” she shared. Then, she told him how her sister had instead been badly burned; her story nothing like their parents’ fairy tale.

  Hesitantly, she asked him about his own life, knowing that privacy was a necessity for him. She was touched that he trusted her with a few details about how his father’s actions had affected him, how he’d loved his father, but had never been proud of him. “For a long time, I was just as mad at how my mom would always take him back . . . but I love her too much to willingly judge her so I learned to let that go.”

  They left each other to their thoughts for a time. Keila found herself being grateful for the father she’d had, and the sting of seeing Mark and Jess gradually subsided as she thought of the really great things life had shown her.

  • • •

  A while later, after meandering down a dark, narrow grove lined by oaks and elms, Jake announced, “We’re here.” He turned to look at Keila, warmth traveling through his veins at the look on her face. She was as enchanted by the old country house as he’d been the first time he’d laid eyes on it.

  “Wow, Jake, it’s lovely. I feel like I’ve stepped into some other place and time. I can’t wait to see it tomorrow, in the daylight.”

  Jake took their stuff out of the trunk, handing her violin case over to her, swinging his bag on one shoulder, and carrying hers in his hand. They walked toward the house and he offered her a few details. “It was built in 1853, and I’m working hard to save as many of the original details as possible.”

  “You’re restoring it all by yourself?” she asked, incredulous. Jake nodded yes and she looked up at him, clearly impressed. “No wonder your hands are so . . . um, well they’re manly man hands, not politician hands. Not that I’ve ever held another politician’s hand. Of course, it’s not like I’ve held your hand, it’s just that, you know, I’ve felt it.”

  Jake looked down at her and tried hard not to grin. She was clearly flustered at the thought of his . . . hands.

  As with everything relating to Keila, against all better judgment, he casually took her left hand in his right, led her up the stairs of the old world porch, through the front door, and into the large living area. The small action of walking into his house, holding Keila’s hand made him feel things he knew he had no business feeling.

  It was one thing to desire someone, it was quite another to feel tenderness toward them, as well. He dropped her hand.

  But she didn’t seem to notice. She was busy looking around, her eyes darting from one detail to the next: the carpenter’s lace above the doorway, the mirrored fireplaces and mantle, the winding oak staircase. Her hazel eyes glimmered, more golden than brown or green; her soft, glossy lips formed a sweet smile. Jake licked his own lips and decided it was time to take a breather from so much togetherness.

  “It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning. Let’s find you a room and you can get settled in, call whoever’s been hounding you non-stop,” Jake said in reference to the phone that had been beeping and she’d been ignoring the whole way. “And I’ll give you a tour tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” Keila quickly agreed.

  He led the way upstairs and showed her the bedroom he thought she’d like best. It had large picture windows and a window seat looking out over the moonlit river. He hadn’t even begun to decorate the house, and the only furnishing in the room was a plain, full-sized bed.

  Keila walked over to the window and sat down. “You have access to the river?” she asked.

  “Twenty-five feet of it. There’s a small pier to the right, but you can barely see it, it’s half-hidden by that black cherry tree over there,” he walked up behind her, and pointed toward the pier, his head just above her hair. He took in the scent of that damned coconut-scented shampoo, the one that had driven him crazy while they’d been working together, and realized with a pang that he’d missed her since then. “Do you think you’ll be all right in this room?”

  “Are you kidding? This is perfect,” she answered before turning to look at him. “What time do you wake up?” she asked.

  “Six. I go for a jog before breakfast. Although it’s late, I may wake up later than usual.”

  “I want to practice at least six hours, in increments, is that okay with you? Or is too much?”

  “I don’t mind at all,” he answered before wishing her good night and leaving. The thought of listening to Keila play all weekend while he worked soothed his stressed soul.

  • • •

  Early the next morning, Keila awoke to the sound of a door closing. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she walked over to the window, a feeling of contentment washing over her. Looking out toward the river, she found it was easy to push away any lingering doubts she had about accepting Jake’s invitation.

  It was an unusually glorious November day. The sun seemed to be dancing on the tree tops and on the other side of the river, the long grass along its bank swayed in the wind.

  After showering and changing, Keila decided to forego her usual regimen of scales, arpeggios, and etudes, and just play what her heart desired. The more she played, the more relaxed she became.

  A little over an hour later, she walked out into the hallway and came face to face with a towel-clad Jake. Right away, she glimpsed a solid six pack and sturdy shoulders she just might have to hold on to. Though she’d never been one
to go nutty over the sight of a male body, she had a sudden onset of every depraved-female symptom in the book. Her mouth went dry, her heart began to beat abnormally, and heat rushed to her face.

  “It’s an old house and there are no bathrooms within the rooms,” he explained after a full thirty seconds of her ogling. And damn it if he wasn’t smiling like the devil himself.

  “No master suite, huh? Let’s have some breakfast.” Out of all her jumbled thoughts, those were the fragmented pieces that came out of her mouth.

  After a mostly silent breakfast where a freshly showered Jake sat next to her, smelling soapy and oh-so-masculine, he gave her a very detailed tour of the house.

  Keila would never have guessed that restoring an old home could be such a sensuous project. His hands smoothed over the projects he’d labored on; talking about ripping things apart, hammering things, rubbing stuff down, buffing . . . it all had her breathing hard. She couldn’t stop looking at his hands.

  A while later, unable to concentrate on her playing and about ready to jump out of her skin because she couldn’t take her mind off Jake, she went down to the first floor library to read Persuasion, remembering she’d seen a leather-bound copy there during her tortuous tour. She figured she could learn a thing or two about formulating proper female thoughts from Anne Elliot, the epitome of delicate, modest female.

  But then delicate, modest Anne Elliot never came upon a smoking hot, shirtless Captain Wentworth in a library. If she had, Keila was sure her thoughts would have scandalized the gentry.

  A half-naked Jake fixing the built-in shelves quickly sent Keila and all her immodest thoughts up the stairs to do what she should have been doing all morning; pouring her frustrations into her music. For a full hour, she played the most impassioned pieces she could find with such feverish energy she was breathless half the time. She ended her vigorous session with Ysaye Ballade and Bach Chaconne.

  Sighing and fully relaxed, she felt as if she should be having a smoke, even though she’d never smoked in her life.

  When she came down for lunch, she saw Jake had already fixed them turkey ham, turkey bacon, tomato and lettuce sandwiches. “I figured you worked up an appetite,” he said. “That was some frenzied playing up there.”

  “It was not frenzied, it was spirited.”

  “Whatever you say,” Jake shrugged, the mischievous glint in his clear blue eyes getting to her. It didn’t seem like she was having the same effect on him that he was having on her and he was behaving like a cocky SOB. She wanted to wipe the satisfaction from his demeanor.

  “So, is Tyrone seeing anyone?” Keila asked; eyes innocent, tone neutral.

  A long silence ensued. “Not that I know of, but I’m pretty sure he has the hots for your sister. Why do you ask?”

  “I think I look like my sister, don’t you?” she asked, ignoring his question.

  He looked up and gave her a good, long look. “I’m not sure. I always see her on TV, looking fine, well dressed, and tailored to a T. Right now, wearing those old jeans and a Cubs baseball shirt, you don’t really look anything alike.”

  “My first boyfriend gave this to me and he still thinks I look sexy in it,” she said without thinking.

  Jake gave her a slow smile, “Right. And you mentioned Robbie was your first boyfriend. Given the little fact that he’s not into women, I’m not sure he has a handle on what really looks sexy on you.”

  Damn her big mouth. Her evil plan throttled, Keila couldn’t finish her sandwich. Resigned, she wrapped her sandwich up for later, thanked Jake for lunch, and went out to explore the river.

  It was hard to stay in a bad mood with such a lavish landscape surrounding her. She went out onto the tiny pier, dipped her hands into the cold water and instantly withdrew them. She threw a few pebbles out before lying down, closing her eyes, feeling the cold breeze and taking in the earthy scents around her.

  • • •

  Jake sat down next to Keila. “Hey. Sorry about that crack about Robbie.”

  She didn’t open her eyes. “I guess it’s not your fault my love life is amusing,” she sighed.

  He lay down next to her. “And I’m sorry I said your shirt isn’t sexy, it’s actually the most seductive thing I’ve ever seen,” he continued, only half-kidding. The bulky material outlined nothing and left too much to the imagination; he couldn’t stop wondering what hid underneath. Keila laughed wholeheartedly, and the sound filled his heart in a way nothing had in a long time.

  “And those jeans . . . ” he let his voice trail off suggestively.

  “What about them?” she asked, and though he was no longer looking at her, he could tell she was smiling. The truth was her figure-hugging jeans had been driving him up a wall all morning. He couldn’t find enough things to do with his hands in order to keep them off her. “Those jeans are second only to a pair of hot pink panties I once saw.”

  Keila swatted him and he laughed, saying, “It’s true, there’s nothing sexier than showing a little skin.” Still not looking at her, he reached toward her knee where he’d seen a slight tear. She bolted upright, giggling and pushing his hand away. “Ticklish much?” he asked, opening an eye.

  “Much,” she smiled, the sun shining through a few gray clouds behind her, her eyes sparkling. He remembered the first time he saw her, felt a tightening in his chest, and closed his eyes.

  A few drops of rain came down, and Keila sighed. “I wish I could stay out here in the rain.”

  “Then stay.” He reached out, remembering she’d also walked away from him that very first day over a little rain.

  “I can’t risk getting sick, my health insurance sucks,” she sighed.

  And it bothered him that she would bring up something so mundane and behave so logically when he was remembering how empty he’d felt when she’d walked away from him. “A little rain won’t do you any harm,” he said, feeling another moment between them slipping away. “I’ll take you to the hospital if you sneeze,” he teased.

  “Easy for you to say, you can afford a hospital visit. I can’t,” Keila explained, getting up. And out of nowhere she added, “And it’s mostly your party’s fault I can’t afford it.”

  “What?” Jake looked at Keila, now remembering each time he’d wondered if she was crazy.

  “Your party wouldn’t let people like me have a public option,” she shrugged, not looking at him. That’s when Jake realized what she was doing. She was purposefully picking a fight to push him away, and, as usual, going straight for his jugular by using politics as her weapon of choice. Did she feel nothing for him?

  “You want to do this again? Now?” When she wouldn’t look at him he said, “Fine, Keila, let’s have it your way. Let’s argue every time we get too close and let’s tax the hell out of everyone and build a huge commune with a free hospital so all you liberal hippies can spend your days dancing around naked in the rain without any worries.”

  The rain was beginning to sprinkle down a little faster, and Jake glared at Keila. But Keila, surprised by his outburst, looked up at him, all wet lashes and bright eyes, and laughed, her expression softening. “Fine by me, I’ll have a grand old time, playing the fiddle while the naked hippies dance. The problem is we’d have to send you away, Jake.”

  “Why?” Jake took a step toward her, oblivious to the rain and his anger of just seconds before, aware only of Keila’s laughing eyes. He reached out and curled a wet strand of her hair around his finger.

  “You wouldn’t make a very good flower child, what with all your suits and boring ties,” she solemnly answered.

  Jake slipped the hand that was playing with her hair to the back of her neck. Her breathing became shallower and her eyes took on a hazy quality. “Well, you’d make a great flower child,” he said before lowering his mouth to hers.

  But before he could kiss her, she panicked, and breathlessly reminded him, “You said you wouldn’t kiss me.”

  So with much effort and great disappointment, Jake pulled away. Holding
his hands up in defeat, he took two steps back, deciding he’d be the one walking away this time.

  • • •

  Keila’s intense disappointment over not giving in to the kiss was now greater than any fear. She hesitated only a moment before leaping into his arms. Grabbing onto his shirt, she said, “Okay, I’m sorry, I know you think I’m crazy, but please just kiss me anyway.”

  Jake looked into her eyes a long burning moment and said “You are crazy,” before gently lowering his lips to nip at her neck and the slope between her neck and ear.

  Keila shivered, but cold and wet as they both were, Jake’s body radiated warmth. She pushed up to him, pressing her body against his, her lips and breath just hovering over Jake’s now, savoring the intensity of every sensation coursing between them. She brushed her lips against his, and then nipped at his lower lip, wanting every dizzying feeling to last. He was torturing her by not kissing her on the lips.

  Her reaction to him heightened to a point where she felt a craving she’d never felt before. Jake lowered his hands to her waist, pulled her toward him, and plunged into her mouth with a deep possessiveness that left her feverish and faint.

  When Keila came up for air and strength, Jake swiftly gathered her into his arms and carried her inside to an old, worn couch where they hungrily kissed, touched, and explored.

  She couldn’t remember when it was that it stopped raining, and when it was that darkness began to fall because she was only aware of Jake’s body beside hers, his breath, and lips. It was a long time before anything else mattered.

  Finally, when they could no longer ignore hunger pangs, they prepared a late Thanksgiving lasagna dinner together, Keila barely able to cook while Jake distracted her with his hands and mouth. They shared a plate on an old recliner, Keila feeling oddly snug and at home on Jake’s lap.

  • • •

  “What do you want to do now? Do you want to watch some TV? One of the CSI shows is probably on tonight.” Jake said when they finished eating. Keila put her head on his shoulder and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so peaceful and content.