Toward the back, a lump curved beneath a champagne satin tanga. Curious, he lifted the lacy edge. His knuckles brushed his World Series baseball. He ran his fingertips over the grass-streaked, slightly dented ball. Lucky baseball, he thought, as he covered it with lace. The ball would be far happier in her panty drawer than encased in glass on his trophy shelf.
He found an oversized man's T-shirt folded neatly beside a magenta bra. One of his Rogues shirts, so worn and faded his number eight looked more like a three.
"I need to get you out of your clothes," he said, coming up behind her.
Jacy's sigh was as much pleasure as pain. "Naked is good."
The pill had definitely relaxed her. Standing before her now, Risk slowly unbuttoned her baseball jersey. Her eyelids fluttered, and without conscious thought, her body leaned into his hands. His knuckles grazed her nipples as his thumbs curved between her breasts. Her skin flushed and her body heated.
Warmth slipped beneath his skin. His fingertips now felt hot and itchy with the need to touch her. Christ, Kincaid, get a grip, he mentally chided him-self. Jacy has cracked ribs and a broken ankle, and you're wanting to jump her bones.
Teeth clenched, he slipped off her jersey, then went for the zipper on her Bermudas. She pressed her pelvis against his palm. Sexual heat radiated through her shorts. His sex pressed painfully tight against his button fly. He was going to hell for lusting after a hurt and helpless woman.
"Stand still, Jacy." His words came out low and husky as he unzipped and tugged down her shorts.
Her flat stomach, curvy hips, and sweet length of leg were now bare to him. Her body was toned, but not athletically tight. He loved her softness, her femininity.
She shifted, lifted her cast to kick aside her shorts, and nearly took a header onto the waterbed. Risk grabbed her hip and she giggled. He looked up, found her watching him. So sexy and silly, he couldn't help smiling. Her eyes were slightly dilated, a very happy expression on her face.
The pain pills were definitely working. Needing to get her into bed, he gently pulled the T-shirt over her head. The shirt hung on her shoulders and reached nearly to her knees. At least she was covered.
Once she was on the waterbed, he propped two pillows behind her head and one under her walking cast. The motion of the bed had her closing her eyes with a soft sigh. Sleep was what she needed most. He covered her with a bright orange comforter, then straightened and stretched.
The scent of sunshine and sweat and a trace of
Jacy's Lolita Lampeka lingered on his skin. He needed a shower. Afterward, he'd make a few phone calls. Stevie being first on his list. Stevie would be disappointed that neither he nor Jacy would be able to attend the country club dance that evening. But she'd understand. Risk's responsibilities lay with his woman. Holding her while she slept.
One step toward the door, and Jacy's hoarse whisper called him back. "Don't leave me."
The shower and calls could wait. Stripping off his baseball jersey and jeans, he climbed onto the wa-terbed, dipped beneath the satin cover. The silken slide of the sheets was slippery against his skin. "I'm here, babe."
She snuggled as close to him as she could get. Her head rested on his shoulder, her left hand splayed on his thigh. "Thanks for taking such good care of me."
He'd take care of her for the rest of his life if she'd let him. Yet, he kept things light. "Friends take care of each other."
She yawned, her words slightly slurred. "Friendship and sex. Always there when I need you."
He stroked her cheek. "I need you too, babe."
"I need you more."
Don't bet on it. He needed her as badly as the air he breathed. He kissed her brow, the scratch on her cheek. "Go to sleep, Jacy."
She tilted her chin, met his lips in a soft kiss. "Not before I tell you… important." She yawned again, deeper this time, and her body went totally lax.
She was dead to the world. Leaving him hanging on her words or confession or whatever the hell she'd been about to tell him. He tugged the comforter to her chin and kissed her brow a second time. Held her as closely as he dared. He was filled with a deep need to make her all better.
Chapter 7
A dateless Stevie Cole stood at the edge of the dance floor, sipping champagne. A wallflower in an ice-blue cocktail dress. It was tea length and a little snug. She'd forfeited all formfitting undergarments in favor of breathing. She sucked in her stomach, attempting to look a size smaller, and failed miserably.
Purchased to make her calves look trim and tight, her matching heels pinched her toes and rubbed a blister on her heel. She was a tennis shoe person at heart. She knew she should have stuck with flats.
All around her the room was filled with soft lighting and light rock. Songs that reflected her love for Aaron. Sadness settled in her soul. When she'd booked the band, she'd pictured herself and Aaron laughing, reminiscing, and dancing to each tune. It wasn't going to happen. The man was engaged.
She hugged the far wall and maintained her smile as a steady stream of congratulations flowed her way. The charity weekend was proving a tremendous success. Close to a half million dollars had been raised.
In a private donation, Risk Kincaid had written a check for a hundred grand. She understood his support of parks and recreation. He valued his roots. Zen Driscoll's additional fifty thousand had both surprised and mystified her. His generosity could not be chalked up to hometown spirit. He needed to be thanked.
She looked across the room, caught a glimpse of Aaron and Natalie as they mingled with local residents and out-of-state fans. Aaron appeared to be enjoying himself. Lots of smiles and handshakes. Pats on the back. Natalie, however, looked bored to tears. If she yawned one more time, she'd put herself to sleep.
A light touch on her elbow signaled Zen's arrival. "Great party." His gaze skimmed her body, then cut away when her nipples tightened in greeting. "Nice dress."
Stevie silently groaned. Her body welcomed this man, yet her heart beat for Aaron. She slowly took Zen in, from his navy suit and crisp white shirt, to his plum-and-blue striped tie. His hair was brushed off his face. No glasses tonight. His brown eyes were incredible. Warm and dark and studying her closely. "You clean up nicely," she finally managed.
"One of Risk's suits," he confessed. "The suit he would have worn had he made an appearance."
"Jacy needs him more."