Just for Appearances

by Jenna Rutland

  He reached the boys and gave them a few more pointers. Unable to resist, he looked back to see how Rachel was doing. Not too bad; he’d been a good teacher.

  “Okay, guys, you finish up while I go help your mom again.” He turned once more to the boys.

  “Why does Mom need help”? Aaron asked. “She’s the star player in our summer game when the kids play against the parents. She hits them better than anyone.”

  “She what?” He felt like one of the boys had just slammed a baseball bat into his gut.

  “Yeah, she’s so good at hitting, her nickname is the Babe.”

  He swiveled his head in her direction so fast he made himself dizzy. Hits them better than anyone? Well, I’ll be damned. The little tease. So, she wanted to play, huh? Good thing he was just the man to step up to the plate. Let’s see how the Babe handled a few more lessons.

  …

  Rachel watched as John sauntered back to her batting cage.

  “I remembered a few more techniques to show you,” he said, reentering the fenced-in space. Was it her imagination, or had his voice switched to a sexy rumble? “And maybe fine-tune the things I’ve already taught you,” he added with a twinkle in his eye. Oh, boy. She was in big trouble.

  Once again, he positioned himself behind her.

  “Remember your grasp.” He brought his arms around, this time putting his hands right on top of hers. “Firm enough to hold but not squeezing too tight. Feel its hardness. Its power. Smooth and strong. Run your hand down the length of it, Rach. Become familiar with it.”

  She gulped. His mouth was right next to her cheek, and his words were fondling her into a hot frenzy as he gave her further instructions. She was having a hard time remembering they were talking about baseball. Weren’t they?

  “Your stance needs a little adjustment.” He moved even closer to her. His chest touched her back. His hips pushed into hers. His arms continued to encase her. He lowered his mouth until his lips touched the exposed skin behind her right ear. He encouraged her in a raspy whisper, “Spread your legs farther apart and bend over just a little, Babe. You’ll be able to react to the pitch that way.”

  She let a whimper escape. Wow, she was in over her head. Why had she allowed her long-forgotten mischievous side to surface and let him believe she’d never done this before? Because she had forgotten how fun it was to flirt. Because she wanted to see if he would react.

  He continued his torment on her libido. “Turn your head just enough to see the ball with both eyes and don’t move your head during the swing.”

  He placed his hands on her neck and turned her head toward the pitching machine. Good God, was there any place on her body where he hadn’t made physical contact? Oh, yeah. Several. And those few places begged for his touch.

  “One more thing I noticed earlier.” He removed his hands from her head and placed them on her hips. “You have a tendency to wiggle this fine little behind right before the pitch. Like nervous energy.”

  She wanted to cry out from the sweet sensation of his hands on her hips. And she knew then that she’d been caught. He knew darn well that she could hit, and this was her punishment for pulling one over on him.

  She struggled to stop the impulse to grind against him. Thankfully, their backs were turned toward the rest of the cages, and no one could see how close they really were. The sporadic cracks of aluminum connecting with baseballs hopefully drowned out their words.

  “There’s a time and place for moving hips, sweetheart, but this isn’t one of them,” he said in a wicked undertone. “Keep still.”

  The threat of hyperventilation crept into her thoughts. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea—pass out in order to avoid further torture.

  “Why don’t you take a few practice swings before I start up the machine?” he suggested.

  She gripped the bat until her knuckles ached. Sweaty palms made it difficult to keep a good grasp. Her rose-colored T-shirt clung to her upper body, and she had the sensation of steam rising from her skin like a hot sidewalk after a cool summer rain.

  “By the way, Rach, just out of curiosity—what’s your favorite position?”

  She lost her grip on the bat, and it slipped from her hands, landing with a clunk on the cement. “What?” Her speech was garbled as she turned around to face him.

  “Which position do you prefer?” His voice sounded innocent, but his smile was devilish. “Outfielder? Catcher?”

  Batting practice was over for the day. She’d had enough.

  Chapter Ten

  Rachel did her best to avoid having any more too-intimate conversations with John over the next few days, careful to keep Aaron, Andrew, and Zak between them at all times. Late one evening, Rachel entered her back door, the single lightbulb above the stove serving as her beacon.

  She entered the family room as John rose from the couch, remote control in one hand and newspaper in the other. He tossed both aside and smiled at her, his eyebrows arched as if to ask, Is everything okay?

  It was too much. When their eyes met, she broke. She had disappointed her boss and herself.

  She didn’t know who moved first, but as her first sob escaped, she found herself in John’s arms, her face smashed against his chest as he bore the onslaught of her crying. “It’s okay, honey. Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.”

  Through her sobs, she told him about the huge mistake she’d make at work, typing out the wrong medications on a patient’s history and physical. When the dictating surgeon had caught the error, he’d demanded her boss hand out a citation.

  “I’m such a failure,” she choked out. “I’m not good at anything. I’m lousy at work. I’m not a good mother. I don’t even know how to be a woman,” she mumbled into his chest.

  He sat on the couch and pulled her down on his lap. “Don’t do this to yourself.” He tucked her head under his chin and cradled her in his arms. He stroked her hair. “How could you think you’re not a good mother? Because you’ve gone back to work? There’s nothing wrong with spending time away from them. You still give the boys a lot of time and energy. They adore you, Rach. And you’re raising them to be kind, decent men. When they’re grown, honey, they’ll be proud of you. They’ll look back on their childhood and know they were loved. In my mind, that’s one helluva mom.” He brushed his lips across her temple.

  His voice deepened as he lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “And,” he added softly, “if you were any more of a woman…hell, I’d be a dead man.”

  Rachel gave him a half smile. “Can I sit here for a minute longer?” Before he could answer, she snuggled back into his arms.

  “As long as you want, Rach. As long as you want.”

  Hours later, she awoke in her bed, disoriented and uncomfortable. The skirt she’d worn to work was twisted and bunched up at her waist, her blouse untucked on one side. She looked at the clock. Two thirty. She recalled the previous hours. John’s lap. Cradled in his arms. Crying like a baby. Pathetic. She must have fallen asleep, and he’d put her to bed. She groaned.

  With a despondent sigh, she pushed herself off the bed, then took a few steps. Her toe snagged the foot of the nightstand, and she cried out. After a quick rub to ease the pain, she straightened and started to undress. She tossed her blouse and skirt onto the rocking chair in the corner of the room, too lazy to place them in the laundry hamper. She placed one foot on the chair, then rolled down her thigh-high stocking, repeating the process with the other leg before tossing both stockings on the pile of clothes.

  On the way to the bathroom, she passed her bedroom door, where John stood motionless in the doorway.

  “You okay?”

  “You scared me.”

  He entered the room. “Sorry. I heard a noise and wanted to check on you.”

  She backed up a few steps. “I didn’t know you were still here.” Her eyes fixated on his body. Bare chest and boxers. He looked magnificent. She really did try to keep her focus on his face, but the temptation proved too great. With the hallway
light on, she could see the outline of his huge arms, the dark hair scattered across his chest, and the defined muscles that rippled down his abdomen. Allowing her gaze to drift lower, she gulped when her eyes rested on his lower body. Her mind conjured up the image of him standing before her just like this wearing absolutely nothing.

  “It was late when I put you to bed, so I stayed.”

  Her gaze flew to his face. The intimacy of the words made her heart beat erratically. Put her to bed. An image appeared in her mind of him carrying her to bed and laying her down. She could remember the feel of his big body on top of hers. Without thinking, she slid the heart-shaped pendant on her necklace from side to side, and the unintentional movement caught his eyes and drew his attention to her breasts. Explosive currents rushed through her.

  He progressed into the room. She wore a lacy beige camisole and matching panties, more covering than her bathing suit provided, but so much more intimate. Maybe she should put on her robe, but she couldn’t seem to make the move, entranced with the way his eyes roamed over her in a lazily seductive look.

  He moved closer still, and she had to turn her face up to look at him. She felt the heat from his body and struggled with the impulse to touch him. To run her hands over what promised to be smooth, warm skin.

  “I’m sorry about tonight.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

  She shrugged. “I was too emotional.”

  “It’s okay to get carried away sometimes—let your passion take over.”

  “Not sure I’m a passionate person.” She was startled to see the smoldering desire she detected in his eyes.

  He closed the tiny distance between them. “I promised not to kiss you again, didn’t I?”

  She slowly nodded.

  “Damn stupid of me.” He reached out, then stopped. “Never said I wouldn’t touch you.”

  “Thank God,” she muttered, shocked at her own eager response. His mouth turned into a slow, sexy smile as his gaze drifted over her face, lingered on her mouth, then moved to her neck. Her skin tingled, and her body tightened with need. The prolonged anticipation of his touch was so overwhelming she could no longer deny herself the promised pleasure. She might not survive if she didn’t feel his touch.

  “Lovely.”

  He took her hand and sensuously ran his thumb across her palm. She gasped at the contact. With his other hand, he started at her wrist and lightly trailed a finger up her arm. He leaned forward, lowered his voice. “Sometimes,” he said, whispering in her hair, “you have to let the emotions out, Einstein.” The underlying sensuality of his words hypnotized her. He lifted his head and watched his finger trace a strap before pushing it off her shoulder. “I think you have a lot of passion that needs to be set free.” His finger scorched a path over her newly exposed skin.

  She closed her eyes and allowed her head to tilt to one side in an unconscious invitation. His hot, smooth fingers made their way across her collarbone at an exquisitely slow rate. She shuddered, lost in the barrage of sensation. The grandfather clock in the other room ticked rhythmically, and she was grateful for each second his hands stayed in contact with her skin. This man had awakened her with a simple touch. Something another man had never done with his entire body.

  He brushed against her, his long, solid erection nudging her belly. Desire sped through her. He stroked her throat with the back of his hand, causing her chin to rise. His touch was sensuous, and she had the wildest urge to purr. His fingers touched her trembling lips.

  “I think you had your fingers crossed when you promised not to kiss me again.” She showered kisses along his temples, the tip of his nose, his cheeks. With his moan, her kisses turned hungry, and the hardness of his lips sent shivers rolling across her skin.

  Aroused beyond comprehension now, she turned her head in search of his mouth, his last words smothered on her lips. She kissed him back, her eager response matching his. He gathered her close, partially covered her with his body. Without a doubt, the hardness pushing against her thigh was a mighty impressive erection. Her hands crept up his chest and around his neck. She took a few steps back until her calves hit her bed, then pulled him down on top of her. He released a low-pitched groan as his big, hard body covered hers, crushing her breasts against his solid chest, her nipples taut beneath the thin fabric of her camisole. Instinctively, she arched toward him, unable to disguise her body’s reaction, shocked at the degree to which she responded. His lips left hers as his mouth nuzzled the tender flesh beneath her ear. The stubble along his jaw gently scraped her skin, and her uncontrolled cry of pleasure echoed in the room.

  The sound of her desire brought her back to reality. The boys might be able to hear her. My God, what if one of them walked in?

  “John, stop.” With a dazed look, he pushed himself up on his hands, then rocked back on his knees, giving her the chance to slip out from beneath him.

  Racing to the other bedrooms, she peeked in to see if any of the boys had awakened. All three were perfectly tucked in, sound asleep. She leaned against the wall in the hallway outside her room trying to compose herself. What the hell had she been thinking?

  …

  What the hell had he been thinking? For the umpteenth time since last night, John repeated the question to himself but still didn’t have a decent answer. What an ass. He came to her rescue and when she was most vulnerable had pounced like an animal. Surely only a truly selfish man would have taken advantage of the situation. He had gotten totally swept away with the feel of Rachel’s body against his, coming alive for him.

  John sat alone at Rachel’s kitchen table, the boys still asleep as the early-morning sun slipped over the horizon. Should he have left last night after what happened? Would she have preferred if he had? He should have offered a longer apology than the one he mumbled after she checked on the sleeping boys. Surprisingly, he was able to fall asleep in the early-morning hours, and she had left for work before he awakened.

  He leaned his forehead on the table and closed his eyes. He tried to stop his mind from conjuring up the feel of her lips, the taste of her skin, her mouth. He failed miserably.

  His plan had been to get her out of his system, but being close to her every day was only making his desire for her worse. And if he acted on it and then left Lake Bliss? It would be the worst thing he could do—to either of them. To the boys.

  Should he call her? He hated to bother her at work, but he was driving himself crazy. Was she mad at him? Disappointed? He hadn’t imagined the depth of her arousal last night. The way she responded, her eagerness, was genuine.

  Damn! He raised his head from the table, moved a hand over his face, then ran it through his hair. He’d have to wait until she got home tonight to deal with this. Maybe she wasn’t mad. Maybe she would fire him. Maybe he should jump off a cliff.

  …

  The next day at lunch, Dani brought up the topic of Rachel’s annual Fourth of July party. Each year, parents and kids gathered at Rachel’s for swimming, baseball, and lots of food and laughs before heading into town to watch the fireworks. Dani had spent the better part of their lunch break trying to persuade Rachel to invite John this year.

  “You really think I should invite him? Like as what, my date? My cohost? What if he’d feel awkward? What if he really doesn’t want to come but doesn’t want to hurt my feelings?”

  What Dani didn’t know—and certainly wouldn’t find out—is what went on in Rachel’s bedroom the previous night. In each other’s arms, kissing and caressing. She closed her eyes, memories of John’s weight on her body, his lips on her skin, bombarding her thoughts.

  “Must be a helluva good daydream.” Dani laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a lustful grin on your face. Does that mean you’re going to invite John to the party? Or are you thinking about what you’ll do after the fireworks?”

  Rachel narrowed her eyes.

  “What? You want me to invite him? I’ll do it if you won’t, but I’ll fix him up w
ith Dixie.”

  Rachel glared at Dani. “That’s a crappy thing to say. I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am. That’s why I’m pleading with you to invite the hunkster before somebody else nabs him.” She wiped her hands on her napkin. “I’m protecting myself here. I don’t want to have to listen to you whine about the one that got away.”

  “That’s it.” Rachel stood and gathered the remnants of her lunch. “I’m outta here. I’m done discussing this. I’ve got work to do, as I’m sure you do, too.”

  …

  The crunch of car tires on gravel kicked John’s pulse up to double time. Rachel entered the back door. He turned in her direction. “Hey, great timing. The boys have only been in bed for a few minutes.” And I can sneak out of here while she’s with them. Did his smile hide his nervousness?

  “Great. I’ll run in and say good-night.”

  He hung up the dish towel and turned to leave. “Guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Can you stay a while? I’d like to talk to you for a minute when I’m done. Are you in a hurry to get home?”

  Damn! Was it his imagination or did Rachel look nervous? She probably was—it wasn’t every day she told a guy off about being a letch. “I can wait. Take your time.”

  “How about a swim? Maybe a glass of wine? Would you like to join me?” she asked.

  Okay. Things were looking up. If she wanted to fire him, she wouldn’t invite him for a drink and a swim first. Would she? “Sounds great. I’ll pour us the wine and meet you at the pool.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, Rachel came out of the house and sat down next to him on the pool steps. Handing her a glass of wine, he saw her hand tremble as she accepted the drink.

  “How was your day?”

  She shrugged. “Kind of slow. Gave me a lot of time to think. Too much time probably.” She lifted the glass to her lips.

  Maybe it would be better to make this conversation easier on her. “Rachel, about…”

  “Are you free on the Fourth of July?” she blurted out in a rush of breath, as if eager to thwart the topic of last night. Worked for him.