Single and Searching (16 page)

Gabe forgot about secrets as Casey's breasts pressed against his chest.

Her fingers curled into his hair.

He tightened the embrace.

She fit him perfectly.

Perspiration dotted his neck and his breathing came in erratic spurts as he imagined her legs wrapped around him. Calm, cool, and collected. The words darted through his mind, conjuring up an old deodorant commercial, and he wondered which brand of deodorant had been advertised. He certainly needed to find the brand because with Casey in his arms, he felt anything but calm, cool, and collected. His blood pressure would probably register off the charts.

"Gabe, we... we can't do this," Casey whispered. When her warm breath feathered against his neck, primal urges danced through him.

He looked into her eyes and saw uncertainty—and something akin to fear. Tightening his arms around her waist, he struggled for control. "I know," he said softly. Hadn't he promised himself he would wait until after the investigation was over?

Why couldn't he let her go? The question echoed through his mind. Casey had a way of making him forget everything. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

She laid her head against his chest, and Gabe's heart pounded at the way she relaxed into his arms. Getting Casey to trust him meant almost as much as getting her in bed. No, Gabe decided. It meant more.

The phone rang, interrupting the moment, and Casey rushed to answer it. He leaned against the door, pretending he wasn't interested in the call, but a deep frown marred her lovely face, and his instincts automatically kicked in.

"No. Don't call me again," Casey said in a hushed voice. "Just leave me alone, Travis." She hung up the phone and turned to him with a strained smile.

"Who was that?" Gabe asked.

Casey's hands knotted by her side. "Uh, just one of those overzealous salesmen."

She was lying. Gabe gritted his teeth, tempted to shake her. Travis Satterfield had been threatening her on the other line.

He needed time to figure out why.

"Listen, I dropped by hoping I could take you and Henry S. to a Braves game," he said. At least in public, he'd have to control himself. He'd had the tickets for two months and hadn't planned to go, but it seemed like a safe place to be with Casey, so he'd charged over here uninvited. How romantic could a crowded stadium be?

Casey folded her arms. "You mean you have Braves tickets and we're standing here talking and kissing? Why in heaven's name didn't you say something before? I love baseball!"

Gabe laughed. He should have known. Casey might not be calm, sedate, and orderly, but she spoke volumes for the American woman—baseball, apple pie and—what was that third one? Sex appeal?

"Henry S. is at Jenna's," Casey said. "Are you sure you want to take him?"

No, he wasn't sure.
If he told Casey what he really wanted to do, it would knock her socks right off, except she wasn't wearing any socks. For that matter, she wasn't wearing any shoes. No wonder the foot fetish guy had been so turned on.

Casey's small dainty feet almost enticed him to suggest a foot game of his own.

"Gabe?"

The uncertainty in her tone jarred him back to reality.

"If you don't, it's okay. Henry S. would love the game, but if you're not used to kids, they can get on your nerves."

Gabe studied Casey's face, revelations dawning. Was she afraid he didn't like children? Was that the reason she'd been so standoffish?

He thought about her being a single mother and realized she probably had reasons to feel that way. Raising a child alone had to be difficult. Some of his friends refused to date women with children, not wanting another man's baggage.

Curiosity over Henry S.' father grew. He must have hurt Casey terribly. If he asked, would she tell him?

"I really would like to take him," Gabe said. "Unless he and your friend are busy."

"No, no," Casey said, visibly relaxing. "Jenna offered to babysit for my date, that's all. I promised to pick him up later anyway."

Gabe's mouth tightened at the mention of Casey's date. As far as he was concerned, her dating days had just ended. "Then let's go get him. Every little boy should go to at least one major league game."

And he would take Henry S. to many more, he silently promised, but he needn't tell Casey that just yet. He checked his watch. "If we leave now, we can make it in time for the National Anthem."

Casey nodded. "Okay, let me change. I promise I'll hurry."

Gabe gritted his teeth as Casey darted into her bedroom. She'd better hurry or he might forget his honorable intentions and go help her. If he did, they wouldn't make it before the ninth inning.

That is, if they made the game at all.

* * *

Casey's breath caught every time she looked at Gabe.

She was either having a heart attack or falling in love.

Not that he was doing anything remotely romantic. He showed Henry S. how to crack a peanut with his teeth, spit the shell out, chew the peanut carefully and then chug his soda. Henry S. showed Gabe his burping talents at the most appropriate time to embarrass his mother.

It had to be the Y chromosome.

But somehow watching him with her little boy was romantic.

Gabe bought Henry S. a sponge tomahawk to do the famous tomahawk chop, a Braves cap, and he surprised her with tomahawk earrings. Balancing a wiggling Henry S. on his shoulders, he stood in line tor thirty minutes to get an autographed picture. Then he battled with an obnoxious drunk over a foul ball which landed in the stands.

"Ball, Mommy," Henry S. exclaimed, holding up his prize.

Casey nodded. Gabe won, sending the staggering, angry man away muttering curses that forced Casey to cover Henry S.' ears. Did Gabe Thornton always get what he wanted?

He wanted her. He'd made it obvious more than once during the evening.

And turning him down was going to be hard if he persisted.

Why did he have to be so darn nice? He truly seemed to enjoy spending time with Henry S.

Oh, that didn't mean he hadn't scorched her with his smoldering looks all night, but Henry S.' silly antics didn't seem to faze him. Was it possible he could accept a child who wasn't his own?

Her stepfather certainly hadn't.

"Handprints," Henry S. said. "Wookie. Wike yesterday."

Casey glanced down and groaned. Gabe's face turned the same yellow as the mustard smeared across his jeans, and his hands tightened around his seat as if he needed to hold something to maintain control.

Casey froze. Would he react like Lou? She had the urge to grab Henry S. and run, but sat still. With one hand, she wrapped Henry S. into a protective embrace.

"Oh, Henry S.," Casey cried. "You aren't supposed to make them on people's clothes." Quickly grabbing a napkin, Casey wiped at the yellow mess on Gabe's pants.

"Sorwee, Mommy," Henry S. whimpered.

Casey glanced from Gabe to Henry S., gauging Gabe's reaction and drew her son farther away from Gabe. "It's my fault, don't blame him. He's just two. He doesn't understand yet. I'll have your pants cleaned. I'll buy you new jeans if the stain doesn't come out."

Gabe's eyebrows knitted in confusion. He brushed his fingers against her cheek. "Relax, Casey." He patted Henry S. on the back. "It's okay, sport. It'll wash out."

"Oh, Gabe, I'm so sorry. I should have realized he might do that." Casey swiped her napkin across Gabe's lap again, avoiding his probing look. "Yesterday Henry S. and I painted handprints for the letter 'h,' you know in my book, and I guess he doesn't understand yet about paper and where and when he can make the handprints."

"I said it's okay." Gabe tensed, stilling Casey's hand with his. "And sweetheart, I think I'd better clean my own pants."

Their gazes locked, and Casey blushed as his meaning dawned. Then his gray eyes delved into hers, and he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm, then each finger so gently that a million delicious sensations tingled through.

Suddenly the crowd erupted into cheers, jerking her back to the game. The third baseman had just hit a homerun. Henry S. waved his tomahawk and screamed the chant.

Then Gabe lifted her chin, angled her face toward him, lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. Casey tasted peanuts and beer and most of all, hot sweet desire.

"Mommy, wook!" Henry S. screamed.

The mustard forgotten, Casey and Gabe pulled apart and laughed as Henry S. tossed his tomahawk into the air.

"Braves won!" Gabe shouted to Henry S.

A burly man spun around and caught the tomahawk just before it landed on his wife's head. Too late, Henry S. bounced up and down, then knocked the man's cup out of his hand.

"Yikes!" The man dove for the cup, slipped on peanut shells and landed in his wife's lap. The cup flew into the air. Casey and Gabe dodged, but beer splattered Gabe's jeans.

Gabe swung Henry S. up onto his shoulders. "We'd better get him out of here before he does any more damage." Taking Casey's hand, they fell in step with the fans, singing the victory chant.

"Hang on, Casey. I don't want to lose you," Gabe yelled.

Casey squeezed his hand and clung to him as they wove through the crowd. She didn't want to lose him either, but would she be able to keep him once he knew the truth about her?

What if Henry S. grew attached to Gabe and he left him? Foster homes had taught her how painful that kind of loss could be.

Gabe had thought her nuts when she said she didn't want to date him because he separated his vegetables. What would he think if she said she wanted to date him now because he didn't mind getting mustard on his pants?

When Gabe asked her to the game, she'd agreed, thinking it would be safer than staying at home with him, but how wrong she'd been.

She'd gone to the ballgame and in the midst of fifty thousand noisy fans, she'd fallen hopelessly in love.

* * *

"If you don't mind, I'd like to stop by my place and change pants before I drive you two home," Gabe said as they pulled away from the stadium. He tried to act as if the stain didn't bother him, and it didn't, but the mustard had seeped all the way through his pants to his boxers, and his skin felt sticky underneath. That along with the spilled beer had combined to make an interesting combination. He smelled like a brewery and felt like a pretzel.

"Sure. If you'll give me your jeans, I'll have them cleaned," Casey offered.

Gabe flashed Casey a wicked look. "Sweetheart, I'll be glad to give you my pants. I don't care if you have them cleaned or not."

Casey swatted playfully at Gabe's wandering hand as it sneaked across the seat and rested on her thigh. "I guess I walked into that one."

"Just let me know when you're ready." Gabe settled their twined fingers on his leg. "All you have to do is ask, Casey."

Casey didn't pull away, but she turned and glanced out the window, and he silently groaned. Would Casey ever trust him enough to open up to him?

Maybe he should come right out and confront her about Travis and the other questions haunting him?

He'd thought going to a ballgame would be safe. But Casey clad in short denim shorts, a Braves t-shirt without a bra, and a baseball cap had driven him mad. The team had scored several home runs tonight while he'd barely made it to first base.

Torturing him further, Casey loved baseball just as much as he did. Every time she cheered, he forgot to watch the runner and had watched her. Not only did her breasts jiggle up and down enticing him, but her peaches-and-cream skin glowed with excitement and her violet eyes grew huge. It was hard to believe a woman with that innocent-looking face wasn't a virgin.

"Henry S. is falling asleep," Casey said.

Gabe glanced over his shoulder. "Did we keep him up too late?"

Casey laughed. "Are you kidding? Getting him to go to bed is usually the problem."

"Will he wake up if I stop?"

"Probably, but he'll go right back to sleep when we get back in the car."

Casey glanced at their joined hands and Gabe followed her gaze, wondering if she felt uncomfortable. Then she tightened her fingers around his and smiled.

Gabe's heart accelerated and he pressed his foot against the gas pedal. He'd better get Casey home before his good intentions disintegrated.

She'd said getting Henry S. into bed was a problem. He wasn't worried about Henry S.

Instead erotic images of how he could get Casey into bed flooded him.

A peaceful silence filled with the car, yet heat simmered between them as Casey settled the radio on a station that played soft rock music and leaned against the seat, her eyes closed, her lips mouthing the words.

His body hardened, forcing Gabe to drag his gaze away from her mouth. Casey had played a seductive game with him that day at the restaurant, but tonight she wasn't playing games. She didn't have to. All he had to do was look at her and desire surged through him, bold and strong, overpowering all his rational thinking.

When they arrived at her house, he'd have to suggest she put on that old tattered quilt of a robe. Not that it would do any good now that he knew her. Her voice, her scent, her smile, her eyes, her small enticing body were imprinted in his brain.

Dammit. For years, the excitement of investigating a story, of watching the pieces fit together, and seeing his words printed on the page had fueled his energy. Tonight, that excitement seemed feeble compared to the way his blood rushed through his body every time she merely said his name.

"We're here," Gabe said, turning into his driveway. His gray stucco house sat on a large wooded lot, but as he looked at the big structure, he saw none of the hominess radiating from Casey's small colonial house. Not one damned birdfeeder or toy littered the driveway. His house might as well be a picture in a magazine. It didn't even look lived in.

"It's... it's big," Casey said, scooting to the edge of her seat. "You live here alone?"

Gabe cleared his throat. What did she think? He had servants, or a live-in woman? "Yes."

"Mommy?" Henry S.' sleepy voice piped from the back.

"We're at Gabe's," Casey said, chewing her bottom lip. "We'll wait in the car."