Slow Heat Read online

  After dinner, they walked along the beach, with Tag managing to get wet up to his waist because he couldn’t resist the lure of the ocean. Nor could he resist kicking up a wave at Wade, splashing him down the front.

  Wade merely stripped off his shoes and shirt and went in after the kid. When they were both good and drenched, they returned to the shore to face a clearly bemused Sam.

  “You’re both . . . wet,” she said, trying to pretend she wasn’t staring at Wade’s chest and failing.

  “That’s water for you,” Wade said.

  “She doesn’t like to get wet,” Tag reminded him. “Her hair frizzes up like a squirrel’s tail.”

  “Tag,” Sam said.

  “Oh. Right.” He winced. “That was a secret.”

  “I like squirrels,” Wade said to Sam with a smile.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Sam warned him.

  Oh, he was thinking. He looked at Tag, who nodded, and the two of them engulfed her in their arms, pressing their wet bodies close to her squirming one, not letting go until she was as drenched as them.

  “Nice,” Wade said, and tousled her frizzing hair.

  Tag ran ahead, toward the car, and Wade grabbed Sam’s hand, following more slowly. She was using her free hand to try to flatten her hair.

  It wasn’t happening.

  He let his gaze dip down her body. Her blue dress was soaked, clinging to her hips, belly, and breasts.

  She was cold.

  She looked down to see what he was looking at. “Great.” She hugged herself. “Feeling a little embarrassed here.”

  “Yeah, that’s not what I’m feeling.”

  She rolled her eyes and tried to get the material away from her body. It broke free with a little suction sound that went straight through Wade, then replastered itself to her like a second skin. She gave up. Not him. Christ, she was hot, and he stepped toward her.

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly, with a short laugh as she backed up, holding out a hand to ward him off. “No touching.”

  “Give me ten seconds to change your mind.”

  He expected her to laugh. Instead she nodded, a heat coming into her eyes. “You could do it in zero point four,” she said softly. “But you won’t. Not here, not now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Tag’s here . . . and because you’re a good guy.”

  He stared into her eyes. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “You secret’s safe.”

  He drove them home, and walked her and Tag to their door. Tag ran inside, leaving them alone. Sam leaned back against the door jamb. “Thanks for tonight.”

  “Yeah. The burgers were good. I love that place.”

  “I meant for helping me with Tag.”

  “He’s a great kid.”

  Her head was back against the wood, tilted up to look into his eyes. “He is.” She licked her lower lip, an unconscious gesture.

  She wanted him to kiss her.

  Leaning past her, he took a peek inside. Tag wasn’t visible. Good. He put a hand on either side of Sam’s head and crowded in a little bit, being careful not to touch her. “ ’Night,” he whispered.

  She stared up at him, her eyes dilated, her lips open just a little.

  She was waiting. Waiting for the good night kiss. And she was so hopeful, so damn sexy with it, he nearly groaned.

  “Night,” she said a little breathlessly, her eyes drifting closed, her mouth gravitating to his, only a breath away now. It took everything he had to remain utterly still. Even more to push off the door and back away.

  Her eyes flew open. “What are you doing?”

  “Not touching you.”

  She stared at him for a beat, then clearly remembered her own words and sighed. “You think this is amusing.”

  “I’m feeling a lot of things, not a one of them amused.” He looked at her in that wet dress and this time he did groan. “Okay, got to go.”

  “Wade?”

  When he turned back, she was in the middle of the doorway, nipples still pressing against the wet fabric of her dress, begging for attention. “Yeah?”

  “You want me to throw myself at you, right? Which, admittedly, I keep doing.” She shook her head. “I’m onto you.”

  “I wish you were onto me. Or better yet, all over me. I’m not picky.”

  She actually took a step toward him, the interest in her eyes making him insta-hard, but Tag appeared behind her with a bag of Cheez Doodles and a DVD in hand. “Wanna watch with me?” he asked.

  Sam, her back to him, closed her eyes for a second, then let out a breath. “Yeah. We want to watch with you.”

  Wade ruffled Tag’s hair and grabbed Sam’s hand. Which is how his date ended up being PG instead of his usual NC-17, or better yet, X.

  Chapter 22

  The season starts too early and finishes too late and there are too many games in between.

  —Bill Veeck

  The Heat played Washington at home in a five-day series, and went into the fifth game tied up two to two. Sam and Tag sat in the stands next to Holly, and at the first media break, Sam loaded up on snacks, handing Holly a full tray.

  “You okay?” Holly asked.

  “Of course. Why?”

  Holly passed Tag the tray. “Go for it, dude.”

  “Sweet!” Tag said, and dug in. When he was occupied, Holly said quietly to Sam, “You look stressed.”

  Sam slunk down in her seat. It was a sunny, gorgeous, warm day. The air was scented with fresh cut grass and sea salt. The stands were filled with hometown fans. Sitting up here like this was as comfortable as being at home. “I’m out of control,” she whispered.

  “Work?”

  “Among other things.”

  Holly smiled. “You know what’s good for stress?” She leaned in close and lowered her voice. “Sex with your big, bad, sexy pretend boyfriend.” She put air quotes around pretend.

  “Ha. Thanks for the tip.”

  “Anytime.” Holly turned forward to watch Pace pitch and Sam spent the next inning watching her big, bad, sexy “boyfriend” work his magic on the field.

  Tag was sitting on her other side, eating more than five truck drivers, but totally into the game. Whenever Wade came up to bat, Tag held his breath along with Sam. He jumped up and cheered and yelled along with Sam. He swore at the umpire along with Sam. And when, at the bottom of the third inning, Wade hit a homer the two of them jumped up and down, and then turned to each other and hugged. Sam felt his scrawny arms go around her and her heart swelled until it was too big for her chest. “I love watching games with you.”

  With a grunt, he sank back to his seat and stuffed the last of his third hot dog into his mouth.

  Sam looked at Holly, who laughed and shook her head.

  “And you’re having fun with me, too,” Sam said to Tag, suddenly needing to hear it, needing to know he wasn’t still pining away for home too badly, feeling as lost as she had for most of her childhood.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, mouth full, still focused on the game. “Even though you make me use soap every night.”

  At the bottom of the fourth inning, Tag groaned.

  “Tag?” Sam’s brow knit. He was green. “You okay?”

  He opened his mouth and threw up.

  She got him to the clubhouse where he threw up some more.

  And some more.

  Sam panicked. She’d never had so much as a hamster. For all she knew, he was dying of some horrible disease. Whipping out her phone while Tag hunched miserably, bowing to the porcelain god, she called medical and brought them in from the dugout.

  By this time, Tag had started to feel better, but he gamely answered the medic’s questions.

  “What did you eat?” the medic asked after checking his vitals.

  “Four hot dogs, popcorn, and a soda.”

  The medic gestured with his chin to Tag’s pockets. “And?”

  Tag slid uneasy eyes to Sam but didn’t answer.

  “What?�