Love from Left Field (11 page)

“My mother always told me that a gentleman always drives the lady, no matter what.”

“Even for a business dinner?”

“Always, but this isn’t business. It’s two friends catching up on old times.” He paused with a sideways glance at her. “Maybe more.”

She suppressed a shiver at his words, excitement and nerves all bundled inside her at once. Her inner woman was thrilled at the sensual promise in his words and tone. Her long-denied desires waking up and reminding her she was a young woman and he was a sexy man whom she wanted very much. What could it hurt, one night? She could fulfill her teenaged fantasies that had never quite gone away, and her very adult woman who wanted to know if one taste would suffice or if he was as addicting as she suspected. She decided to play it cool, see where the night took them.

He escorted her to a black BMW M4 and clicked the remote, unlocking the doors as they approached.

“I see major league baseball pays you very well indeed for you to rent a BMW for months. Sporty yet practical.” She mused, eyes running over the sleek lines of the car.

He grinned and opened the passenger door. “I like my cars just like I like my women—sexy and smart. And this lady’s mine.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Smart too? Most guys run screaming from a smart woman. Probably afraid we’re smarter than they are.”

“Some men might find that intimidating, but I think it’s a turn-on, better than sexy clothes.” His eyes ran down her fitted business suit, stopping at the bottom of her skirt that was a few inches above her knee. “Not that I don’t appreciate sexy clothes.”

She tossed her purse on the seat and turned to face him, leaning back against the frame. “Brains before beauty. How unusual.”

He pulled the door out further and stepped around it, making room for himself, crowding her slightly against the car, a playful expression on his face. “Not really. The brain is the most sensual organ in the human body. Although my preference is for the skin and the lips.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, gently at first, then his hand slipped around her waist and pulled her against him, crushing her lower body into his. She moaned low in her throat and wrapped her arms around him, seeking a closeness her body craved. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seams of her lips, then slipping inside to tangle with hers. His other hand tugged her hip closer and he crowded her into the car frame. Heat exploded deep within her body, fanning long dormant flames, and she tilted her head back to allow his lips to trail over her throat to suck gently on the pulse beating wildly.

Suddenly, he lifted his head, breathing heavily, still holding her hips to steady her or himself, she didn’t know. She struggled to calm her racing pulse and slow her breathing while staring wide-eyed at him. Finally, after a few moments, they were both breathing regularly, though the memory of that kiss would take far longer to erase from her memory. Not that she wanted to forget it.

He stepped back and she realized her hands were clenched around his forearms, nails digging into him, the shirt sleeves the only thing preventing her from drawing blood. He looked down at her fingers, a half smile on his face, and she slowly unclenched them, feeling the ache as she released the tension in them, wiggling them to get blood flowing. He gestured into the car.

“Shall we go to dinner?”

“Dinner first.” She nodded, licking her lips. “Then dessert.”

He laughed and walked around to the driver’s side.

L
ucas studied Miranda
out of the corner of his eye. She rubbed against the leather seat and inhaled, her eyes closing in pleasure. Damn, he wished he was the one who put that look in her face, preferably in his bed and not in his car. But for now, he’d have to settle for in his car and out of the office. He started the car and backed out of the space.

“What are you in the mood for?” He asked, driving out of the garage. “Thai? Italian?”

She laughed, a sound he hadn’t heard enough of in the past couple of weeks. “You’re in Savannah, the capital of down-home Southern cooking. You’d be kicked out if you didn’t have authentic local cuisine. Take a left.”

He shrugged and followed her directions to a beautiful home in the historic district. A short line of people waited outside, chatting and not at all in a hurry. That would never have happened in Chicago, where people were in a rush and demanded attention commensurate with their assumed statuses. Here, it was all about the food, not position. He parked and escorted Miranda up the brick-lined street to the house, his hand lightly pressed on her back.

“Shouldn’t we wait in line?”

Miranda laughed. “I know the owner. There’s always a seat for me when I come by.”

The door opened and an older woman looked surprised, then her face crinkled in a smile. “Miranda, dear. It’s been so long. We heard about your dear father. I hope he’s doing well.” She enveloped Miranda in a hug, her multicolored caftan swirling about both of them in a genuine display of affection.

Lucas stood to one side, hands plunged in his pockets. Another one of Miranda’s conquests. He felt a bit like a third wheel, Miranda’s satellite here. And the feeling was disconcerting and unfamiliar. After a long moment, the women separated and Miranda gestured to Lucas.

“This is Lucas. He used to live here but seems to have forgotten good Southern cooking. Lucas, this is AnnaMae Harper, owner of the Harper House, the best damn place for fried chicken in all of Savannah.”

“And everywhere else, too.” AnnaMae chided. The woman grabbed Lucas in a bear hug. She barely came to Lucas’s shoulders, but her grip was surprisingly strong. “Then we need to reacquaint you, and put some meat on your bones. Too skinny.” She squeezed his upper arm and nodded wickedly. “Nice biceps though.”

She whirled and waved for them to follow her. They weaved among tables that lay somewhat scattered across the surprisingly spacious and open floor plan of the house. She paused by a small alcove near a stained glass window. The table was for two and tucked away from prying eyes. The flame from a candle on the table, designed to increase the romantic quality of the restaurant, cast shadows against the wall.

“Perfect spot for a little romance, eh?”

Lucas squirmed uncomfortably while Miranda only smiled. “It’s a business dinner, AnnaMae. Nothing more.”

“This is too nice a night for business. Now, sit and let my granddaughter, Annabelle, take good care of you. Annabelle, bring them two Savannahs.” AnnaMae winked and bustled off to the front of the restaurant and her remaining customers.

A young woman with far too many tattoos and piercings smiled broadly and poured some water for them. “Be right back with the drinks.”

“Thanks, Annabelle.”

“Annabelle? AnnaMae?”

Miranda grinned. “Family tradition. All the girls are named Anna.” She folded her hands on the table. “So, how does it feel to be home again?”

He frowned and glanced around. “Shouldn’t we have menus to look at?”

“AnnaMae will take care of us. Now, stop avoiding the question.” Miranda studied him with laser intensity.

He shifted slightly in his chair, not liking being on the other side of an interrogation. “It doesn’t really feel like home. Not anymore.”

Pity shone in her eyes. “You grew up here. Have you really blocked it out of your mind that much?”

The waitress came back with their drinks and some warm bread. Miranda thanked her while Lucas only nodded, Miranda’s question sending him deep into the vault of memory, a place he had studiously avoided for the past decade. “My job keeps me on the road so much I don’t really have a home anymore.”

She reached across the table and gripped his hand in hers, a sympathetic look in her eyes. “I’m sorry. What about your mom?”

He snorted. “It’s okay, really. My dad died just after college. Mom decided to leave Savannah and we all sort of drifted apart. It’s my choice and I’m okay with it.”

Her questions brought back uncomfortable memories; how he lost he had felt after his dad had passed. By then, his brother and sister were in college and forging new lives. His mother hated the memories of their house in Savannah and decided moving was best for her. Somehow, he had lost his roots. He had never felt particularly sad about that before, until now. Being back with the Knights was like moving back home after being on his own for a long time. He didn’t quite fit in, but he realized how much of his family was still here, how nice it was to have people around him who cared.

She looked doubtful but let the subject drop. She sipped her drink and tore a piece of bread from the basket. “Try the butter. It’s honey flavored. I may have to work out more because of it, but it’s worth it.” She popped a piece in her mouth and closed her eyes.

He groaned. “Have mercy, Miranda.”

Her eyes flew open and she grinned. “Bothering you? Maybe you shouldn’t have started something you couldn’t finish.”

He sipped his drink and coughed. “What the hell is in there?”

Miranda took a healthy swallow of hers. “Gin, white cacao, and some other stuff. You’ve never had a Savannah?”

“I take it tonight is a little trip down memory lane?”

“Just reconnecting you with your roots. You seem to be lacking them.” She reached across the table and rested her hand on his, the touch burning him. “So, where do we go from here?”

Maybe it was the gin, or the kiss, or something else, but she had been throwing him off balance all night. He had started it with the kiss, assuming control, but she had quickly turned the tables and wrested the evening away from him. Instead of worrying about control, as he often did, he was enjoying himself.

“You have a lot of convincing to do at the stadium. Your coaching staff, scouting staff…” he began.

She finished her drink and eyed him over the rim. “I don’t mean work. I mean, where do
we
go from here?”

Comprehension dawned. “The kiss? I won’t lie. There’s something between us, always has been. We’re both adults. No reason why we can’t explore it.”

“Really?” She looked doubtful, eyebrows furrowing, but there was a glint something else in her eyes, a hint of desire.

Annabelle and a couple of waiters served family-style plates heaped with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, collard greens, and coleslaw.

“Let’s eat while it’s hot.”

Lucas watched as Miranda served herself and ate without any apologies for diet or delicate feminine sensibilities like so many other women he’d dated in the past. Remembering her schedule, she probably hadn’t taken a break all day to eat. A rumble from his own stomach reminded him he’d only had a bagel for breakfast, over ten hours ago, so he dug in. The flavors exploded on his tongue, reminding him of summers at the beach, family dinners, and home. Miranda was right. It had been a long time and he had pushed the past out of his mind, choosing instead to bury it with his father and pretend it never happened.

But food and Miranda had forced it all to the surface, making him unsteady and off his game. Candlelight flickered across Miranda’s face. The alcove, quiet and secluded even from the crowded restaurant, made him feel as if they were the only two people in the world. All of the external world, the Knights, the people, faded away, leaving them with this one night. Business had no place here. The only question was, what did he want?

*

After dinner, Miranda
left the restaurant and walked in the opposite direction of the car. After a long look down the street, he followed, catching up with a few long strides. As soon as he drew abreast of her, she slipped her hand into his and held it firmly, as if making sure he wasn’t going to escape.

“So the evening isn’t over yet?” he asked.

She cast a sideways glance at him, with mischief in her eyes. “Eager to be rid of me? It’s a beautiful night. I thought we could enjoy a nice walk.”

“Why, Ms. Callahan, are you trying to seduce me?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe. Just so you know I don’t put out just for a dinner.”

“And a few drinks.” She reminded him with a laugh.

“God, we can’t forget those.” He looked around, seeing several couples following their lead, walking hand in hand down the road. “So, what’s the plan? Still connecting me to my roots?”

“I love walking in the historic district, especially at night. The houses are gorgeous and I imagine the lives of people in them, back when they were built. I imagine Sherman’s guns in the distance, the sounds of battle. What must they have been thinking?”

“I think they were scared shitless. I would be if an army was headed here, burning everything in its path. Although, Savannah wasn’t burned. It was too valuable of a sea port.”

She shoved him lightly. “Spoilsport. Now you’re a history expert. How does it compare to Chicago?”

They walked in silence for several moments, as he enjoyed the feel of her hand grasped securely in his own. They were like any other young couple, strolling the streets, enjoying the mild March weather. He could almost forget about the issues they faced that could ultimately separate them. Miranda nudged him with her shoulder, jostling him out of his thoughts and back into the moment. And instead of being resentful and irritated by her pressure, he felt relaxed, almost happy.