Love of the Game (17 page)

“I've never heard you talk this much,” he said. “I really like the chatty Kasha.”

Honestly, so did she.

“May I ask you a personal question?” he ventured, sitting up in the sand to stare down at her.

Feeling vulnerable with him above her, she sat up too. “As long as I reserve the right not to answer.”

“Why did you keep your shorts on when we went swimming?” Axel asked.

“Because I didn't want you ogling me,” she quipped past the sick feeling that sprang to her stomach.

“So it has nothing to do with those scars on your legs?”

Kasha splayed both palms over her upper thighs. “How did you know?”

“When you came out of the water the hem of your shorts had ridden up,” he said solemnly, sitting up, his gaze searching her face. “What happened?”

Shame vibrated through her, and she felt her stomach heat up. “I . . . that's none of your . . .” Unable to bear the kindness in his eyes, she ducked her head and busied herself with braiding her hair to keep from looking at him.

He reached over, touched her hand. “It's okay. You don't have to tell me. It doesn't change anything.”

She darted a sideways glance at him. “Doesn't change anything about what?”

His eyes were dark, mysterious orbs. “The way I feel about you.”

A flutter of panic batted around inside her chest. She did not like where this conversation was headed. She hopped to her feet, tugged at the cuff of her damp shorts. “We need to go.”

“There's nothing to be afraid of,” he said, getting up.

“I'm not afraid,” she denied, even as her knees quaked.

He touched her shoulder, lightly, tenderly. A sick sensation rolled through her. “Kasha, what happened to your thighs? I won't judge you.”

He knew.

She could tell from the look in his eyes. She hung her head, touched her chin right to her chest. How could she confess her deepest shame?

He didn't move. Didn't say anything else. Just kept standing there patiently, his calloused palm warm against her skin, his thumb rhythmically stroking her in a circular motion, sending a message.
It's okay, you're all right, I'm here.

“I . . . I . . .” Emotion welled up in her throat.

No! She was not going to cry. She did not cry. That was not the way she operated.

She hauled in a deep breath, waited a heartbeat, and then broke down, confessed. “When I was a teenager, I used to . . . cu . . . cu . . .” She stumbled over the word, finally got it out. “I was a cutter.”

He hissed in air through clenched teeth, and the pressure of his hand deepened. “Oh, babe, I'm so sorry you were in that much pain.”

“It's all right now,” she rushed to assure him. “Mom and Dad got me into therapy and yoga. Yoga changed my life. It was my salvation.”

“Thank God for yoga,” he said, and drew her against him.

It was a hug of comfort, not intended to be the least bit sexual. And for the briefest second, Kasha allowed herself to drop her forehead to his shoulder and take solace in his solid masculine body that smelled of sand and sun and man.

She lingered as long as she dared, and then reluctantly she pulled away. There were so many ques
tions in his eyes, but he did not ask them. Instead, he reached down and took her hand, and led her to the Jet Ski.

And all the way back to the marina, she kept thinking,
I could so love this man.

B
y the time they reached the marina, it was almost six-thirty and the boat ramp was packed, people milling everywhere. The smell of cumin and garlic from the Mexican restaurant on the other side of the boat ramp wafted over.

A live band hit up a respectable version of The Fabulous Thunderbirds' “I Believe I'm in Love with You.” An enthusiastic harmonica player made the instrument wail.

Axel tied the Jet Ski at the boat dock. Various watercrafts were lined up at the ramp. It would be a while before they could pull out.

Giggling twenty-something young women were eyeing him, but he was used to that kind of attention—he was Axel “The Axe Man” Richmond, after all—and he politely ignored them. He had eyes for only one woman. He got off the Jet Ski and reached a hand to help Kasha ashore.

She took his hand. Once he had her on the dock beside him, she did not let go. She hung on. Not interlacing their fingers. The gesture was more casual than that, just the slip of her palm against his, but her skin was warm, soft.

He liked that she hadn't let go. It made him feel as if she was claiming him, but then he wondered if it was more because the dock was shaking as a pack of kids ran up and down it playing chase, and she didn't want to lose her balance.

Either way, he would take what he could get.

He squeezed Kasha's hand, pulled her closer to his side.

She released his hand and stepped away, and he couldn't help feeling he'd blundered somehow.

Axel dropped his gaze to her thighs. The shorts covered the scars, but he couldn't forget what they'd looked like. Long, thin, silvered lines, like someone keeping score with Roman numerals.

His stomach flipped over. He hated thinking of her as a trouble teen in so much emotional pain that slicing her skin was the only way she'd been able to find relief from what haunted her.

Thank God, she had found yoga. He hated to think what might have happened to her if she hadn't.

The fierce need to protect her charged through him, and it was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms.

“I had a great time today,” she said, looking surprisingly shy. She had so much self-confidence that it was hard to think of her as shy. “Thank you for coercing me into going out on the Jet Ski with you.”

“Thank you for being coercible.” He grinned and picked up her hand again.

She made a lackluster stab at pulling away, but didn't follow through with it.

“Do you have to leave?” he asked.

“I should go . . .” She gestured toward the Prius. “We've been together all day . . .”

“So?” He used her hand to troll her closer.

She resisted, putting tension on their joined hands, yet not breaking the connection.

“We could share some veggie fajitas.” He nodded toward the Mexican joint. “Listen to the band. Grab some margaritas?”

“La Cantina is BYOB,” she said.

“Okay, skip the margaritas. But please stay. I don't want the day to end yet.”

Kasha hesitated, and he could see she was wavering in his direction.

“C'mon,” he coaxed.

“I'm in shorts and a swimsuit.”

“I have it on good authority you always keep a change of clothes in your car.”

She laughed. “I do have a sundress in the trunk.”

“It's settled.” Holding fast to her hand, he guided her past revelers on the way to her car.

She hit the trunk release on the key remote, and it popped open. She leaned inside, took out an overnight bag, found a flirty red dress with yellow flowers on it.

He spied a bottle of red wine in the trunk, reached down, and hooked a finger around the neck of the bottle. “BYOB. Boy, you are prepared.”

“Oh no, Suki.” Kasha hissed.

“What?”

She grabbed for the bottle. “Not that wine.”

He held it over his head, out of her reach. “What's wrong with this wine?”

She wrinkled her adorable nose. “Tastes terrible.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

She looked helpless, hopeless. “Maybe I should be going.”

“Put on the sundress,” he said, brooking no argument. “We're doing this.”

“Does that alpha man stuff usually work for you?”

“All the time.” He gift-wrapped a smile, lifting the corners of his mouth up as far as they would go, putting sparkle in his eyes. “Now come on, beautiful. Vegetable fajitas and wine await.”

She hesitated for a moment, as if she should refuse, and he gave her a look that said,
Give in; I'm gonna win.

“Fine.” She caved, and he felt like he'd gotten traded to the Yankees. “But I'm not drinking any of that wine.”

She pulled the red sundress down over her head. When the dress settled into place, draping to her ankles, she wriggled her shorts off underneath the dress. The shorts dropped them to the pavement, and he stared at them, mesmerized by her quick change. She picked up the shorts and tossed them into the trunk.

“Teetotaler?”

“No. I just don't like the taste of vinegar.”

“Fair enough. You don't mind if I have some.” He said it as a statement, not a question.

She shifted her mouth to one side as if she was going to protest, but finally waved a hand. “Suit yourself. I know you will anyway.”

“You know me so well,” he teased, shutting the trunk. Holding the wine bottle in one hand, he looped his other arm through hers and escorted her into La Cantina.

But even though she went willingly with him, Axel couldn't help feeling it was all she could do not to turn and run away.

B
ecause of who Axel was, they didn't have to wait in line, but were instead immediately escorted to primo seating on the outdoor deck, the owner hustling to set up a table just for them.

Axel protested against special treatment, but the owner waved him away, saying Axel's appearance in
his establishment was an honor and a privilege and would bring in customers. Axel accepted the praise and perks with humble thanks.

“This is embarrassing,” he said to Kasha.

“But it happens wherever you go.”

He nodded and looked uncomfortable. “The downside of being in the public eye.”

“Most people would consider it a bonus.”

“I don't believe I deserve special treatment just because I have a talent for throwing a ball. The people who should be getting special treatment are teachers and nurses and firemen and cops.”

“But that's not the way the world works.”

“No,” he said fiercely and held out the chair for her to sit. “But it should.”

They were seated right along the water, a bit away from the other diners, a festive multicolored umbrella shading their eyes from the western sun. He dropped into the chair across from her, bringing his energy and his heat, all male and muscled and magnificent. He said nothing else, leaned his head back against the chair, and closed his eyes.

Kasha smiled. Two weeks ago he wouldn't have been able to do that—unplug so quickly and sink into the moment. He'd come a long way in a short time. Progressed much farther than she'd imagined he could.

He opened one eye, peeked at her. “How am I doing?”

“Fine,” she said.

“This relaxing thing is hard.”

“I'm proud of you. You're getting the hang of it.”

“Only because I have a great teacher.”

“Only because you had no other choice but surgery.”

“True.” He laughed. “But you
are
a great teacher.”

“You're turned out to be an easier patient than I expected.”

They grinned at each other.

The owner himself took their orders, and brought them two wineglasses for the bottle Axel carried. The bottle of wine Kasha had found in the hope chest. He set it in the center of the table.

They fell silent as an ultralight aircraft floated overhead. “Ever flown in one of those?” he asked.

“No.”

“Would you like to? I've got a friend who owns a couple.”

“Thanks for the invitation, it sounds like fun, but now that I've got Emma to think about I should forgo the risky activities.”

“It's totally safe.”

Kasha eyed the ultralight overhead. “Um . . . it looks pretty sketchy to me.”

“Not as dangerous as a Jet Ski.”

“That's probably true enough. But I felt totally safe with you. You really know your way around a Jet Ski.”

“I'm from Houston. Spent a lot of time on the ocean.”

“A man of many talents.”

“What can I say? Women dig a guy who can handle personal watercraft.”

“And paint and pitch baseballs and . . .”

“What can I say? I'm a passionate guy.”

“I know,” she said. “That's what troubles me.”

“Troubles you how?” He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and studied her with heavily lidded eyes.

“You've got long fingers,” she said, ignoring his question.

“Better to grip the ball with, my dear.”

“Well, you know what they say about guys with long fingers.”

“Long fingers, hard to find gloves that fit?”

She burst out laughing.

“God,” he said. “I love that sound.”

“You're quite easily impressed,” she replied. “You do know that.”

“And you're a hard nut to crack.”

“Not really,” she said, pausing to watch a turtle dive off a rock and plunk into the water. “I've just learned a few techniques to keep my emotions from running away with me.”

“Maybe you learned them too well.”

“No.” She shook her head mildly. “I'm not being dramatic when I say yoga saved my life. I was pretty messed up when I was a teenager. Poor Mom and Dad. If I hadn't found yoga when I did . . .” She allowed her words to trail off.

He shifted in the chair, leaning closer.

Kasha kicked off her sandals and tucked both feet up into her chair, underneath her bottom. “The thing is, I like who I am now, and I don't want to risk losing it.”

“And I somehow threaten your identity?”

“More like my sanity,” she mumbled.

He looked pleased with himself. “How often do you do yoga?”

“Oh, every day. The more I do it, the better I feel.”

“It sounds like an addiction.”

“No. It's medicine. For the mind, heart, body, and soul.”

“But isn't it just stretching and breathing?”

“And that's what's so simply miraculous about it,” she said. “I'm sure you experience something similar
whenever you're pitching, and you're in the zone. It's transcendent.”

“True. Gotta say . . .” He shifted his gaze from her face to her body. “I admire the way you can twist your body into those pretzel positions. How do you do that?”

“Practice. Lots and lots of practice.”

“Of stretching and breathing?”

“Yes. You should take a yoga class sometime. See what you're missing.”

“Can you do a headstand?”

“Child's play.”

“Can I see sometime?”

Kasha hesitated. She wanted to share her love of yoga, but the wicked gleam in his eyes made her wonder if he was asking because he wanted to see her shirt fall down when she went up in the air.

“It's okay if you can't do it—”

“I can do it,” she said, knowing she was letting him get to her, but he wasn't the only one with talents. “I'll show you sometime. Maybe.”

Axel leaned over and uncorked the wine, and poured it up in the two glasses.

She held her breath.

Part of her wanted to know if the wine tasted as divine to him as it did to her, and another part of her was terrified to find out. It was silly. It was superstitious. But despite that, she still wanted to know.

He raised his glass, stared straight into her, and said, “A toast to the perfect day.”

Seriously, how could she not drink to that?

“To the perfect day,” she echoed, clinked her glass to his, and lowered her eyelashes.

Her heart kicked up, sending a dizzying amount of blood to her head.

Slanting a sideways glance at him, her muscles tensed, She watched Axel take a sip.

The second the wine touched his tongue, he broke out in a smile. “Vinegar, my ass.
Day-am
, Sphinx, this is the best wine I've ever tasted.”