Love of the Game (20 page)

“Oh shit, Sphinx. You found their bodies?”

“Most likely. But I don't remember it.”

“Waking up like that must have been so confusing.”

“And terrifying,” she said. “I didn't know where
I was or why I was there. I recognized Maggie and Dan, of course. Jodi was my best friend in grade school, and we were in the same class. I used to slip over to the Carlyles' when the yelling or the lovemaking got too loud at my house.”

“So after you walked into your parents' house . . .” He hauled in a steadying breath. “. . . you went to the place where you felt safest.”

Kasha bobbed her head. “This is what I've pieced together from other peoples' accounts of that day. Several hours after the shootings, Dan found me hiding in their garden shed, cowering behind planter boxes and covered in blood.”

“That must have scared him.” Axel winced.

“Dan thought I was injured. Maggie tried frantically to call my parents, but when she couldn't get an answer, she asked a neighbor to watch the children, while she and Dan loaded me into the back of their car and took off for the hospital.”

“And you don't remember any of that?”

Kasha shook her head. “When they arrived in the ER, the place was in chaos. Cops were everywhere, nurses were running to and fro.”

“Working on your biological parents?” Axel guessed.

“Dad was DOA,” she said, still using the robotic voice that allowed her to tell the tale without breaking down. “But my mother held on for several hours.”

“That's . . .” He ran a hand through his hair, looked stunned. “I can't . . . there are no words.”

“There's nothing to say. Worst day of my life.” She dusted her palms together. “But it happened and it's over, and I made it through.”

“Thank God you don't remember it.”

“Thank God for the Carlyles.” She rested her head on his shoulder, and he held her for the longest time,
and after a while, she felt settled enough to speak again. “I was so scared that Maggie and Dan might send me away, but from the very beginning they treated me like family. They fostered me, and then adopted me. I was very lucky.”

Another heavy silence rolled between them, thick as the gathering damp. Axel pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Do you know why your mother killed your father?”

“The cops figured it was a jealous rage. My father had a wandering eye. But it wasn't until I found out about Emma that the truth cleaved me upside the head. Mom killed him because she discovered he had an illegitimate love child with a stripper. She couldn't live with him, but she couldn't live without him either. Crazy passion.” She spit out the last word as if it was a rancid peanut, and she could taste the oily yuck.

“And all those years you had no inkling of Emma?”

“No.” Kasha swiveled her head from shoulder to shoulder. “In the wake of the murder/suicide, Emma's mother laid low, impressive because that's pretty hard to do in a town as small as Stardust. I can't imagine how ashamed she must have felt. How guilty. I wish I could have met her. Told her I didn't blame her. I can't begin to fathom what she must have gone through believing she was responsible for what my mother did. I just wish . . .”

“What?” he asked, his voice soft as velvet.

She shook herself, stepped back, offered up a ghost of a smile. “It doesn't matter. The past is past. I can't change it. I'm not responsible for what my parents did. I'm only responsible for me. And hopefully soon, Emma.”

“And this?” He trailed his fingertips over her thighs. “What started this?”

Kasha nudged his hand away, splayed her palms over her thighs, closed her eyes, and experienced the sharp edge of her fear.

“It's okay,” he whispered. “That part of your life is over. You're safe.”

She was, but that didn't mean she couldn't fall prey to her emotions. She hoisted up her chin, her shoulders, and her spirits. “It seems stupid now.”

“What does?” His voice was a gentle caress.

“When I was in high school some girls started a rumor that I was the one who murdered my parents, and pinned the blame on my mother. It was high school bullshit, but because I couldn't remember what happened that day, I let the taunts inside my head, and I started to wonder if they were right. Maybe I had killed my parents.”

“Sweetheart, you poor kid.” He drew her back into his arms again. Part of her wanted to fight his embrace. They were getting too close, but another part of her simply surrendered. It felt so good here in his arms.

“That's why it touched me when you went to bat for Emma with those girls,” she said. “Flashbacks.”

“Dammit, Sphinx. You didn't deserve any of that, and neither does Emma.” His voice rumbled from his chest, big and strong. “I'm so proud of how very far you've come. And Emma is lucky to have you.”

“No. I'm the one who is lucky. Emma has opened me up to life.”

He looked at her as if she were an angel tumbled from his dreams. “Kasha Carlyle, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known, both inside and out.” He squeezed her against him as if he would never let her go.

Instantly, her body responded, heating up, getting moist, throbbing with a wretchedly beautiful ache.

She wanted him! Past every level of desire imaginable, past rhyme and reason and rational thought!

This
, whispered a terrified voice at the back of her head.
This kind of desire is what destroyed your parents.

He shifted her into the crook of his arm, eyes drilling into her, not taking his gaze off her for a second.

Her pulse leaped, and her knees quaked, and a spasm tore through her throat, and she could not utter a word.

“Sphinx,” he whispered. “My beautiful, beautiful Sphinx.”

And before she could protest, he kissed her.

A
sexual jolt, as sharp and shockingly charged as static electricity, crackled against Axel's mouth the second he touched down on those pretty pink lips.

God, what lips! Pillowy. Luxurious. Honey sweet. Soft.

And yet, at the same time, also firm and strong. A paradox. His Sphinx.

Anxious to taste more of her, he tipped her chin up to deepen the kiss, deliberately taking his time, savoring her heated sugar as he slid one hand up her spine, drawing her closer to him.

And that persistent thought again:
We fit
.

A sliver of a sigh slipped past her lips, and her arms slid around his shoulders, moved up.

Nice. Real nice.

Her fingers pushed up through his hair, her short thumbnails resting against the nape of his neck.

He had a sense of the conflict within her, wanting to pull him closer, while at the same time wanting to shove him away.

As it was, she did neither. Just waited.

All right.

He wasn't holding back. His tongue found hers, and a thrilling flush burned inside him.

She pressed her body flat against his, and he was one hundred percent certain she could feel his erection. She was kissing him now, and he let her take the
lead, interested to see what she would do, where she would take this.

When her hands moved to cup his face, a rough groan rolled from his throat, in a sound so foreign he did not recognize it.

Things got a little wild from there. The kisses grew quicker, harder, more frantic—bold, hot, hungry—until they were both perspiring and panting.

Kasha broke it off, leaned back against the railing, her eyes glazed with desire. “I can't do this,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “I won't do this.”

“It's okay,” he said, his voice coming out harder and rougher than he intended. “It's okay.” Reassuring her? Or himself?

“It's not okay. I'm your physical therapist.” She fingered her lips, stared at him with abject despair.

“It was just a kiss, Kasha.” But he knew in his heart it was not just a kiss. He was in love with her and the kiss was a topper. He loved both this competent, confident woman that he'd come to know, and the lost child she'd once been.

“Inappropriate,” she fussed. “I knew I should never have gone out on the Jet Ski with you. That was stupid enough, but then I compounded things by agreeing to dinner with you and drinking that wine—” She gulped, whimpered. “Totally irresponsible.”

“It was your day off. Time out.”

“Doesn't matter. That was utterly . . .” Her breath came out hot and shallow. “It was—”

“Terrific,” he said. “Hot. Sexy. Spectacular. Awesome.”

“Well, yes.” She waved a hand. “But that's beside the point.”

“You're making too much of this,” he said, attempting to soothe her, even as his own alarm bells were ringing.

“A patient gives me the best kiss of my life, and I'm making too much of it?” She glowered, but she still looked dazed. Hell, he was surely dazed.

“It was the best kiss of your life?” he couldn't resist asking. Okay, so he had an ego, but the thought that she was impressed with his kiss left him feeling like the king of the universe.

“Don't let it go to your head.” She snorted.

He smiled, hoping to get her to lighten up about the kiss.

“Can't let you get cocky, thinking your lips are something special.”

“But they are special.” He wriggled his eyebrows.
Stop it, Richmond, you're making things worse trying to be charming
. Epic fail. He was headed for an epic fail, but he couldn't seem to shut up. “Right? At least to you, or you wouldn't be making such a big deal of this.”

“It is a big deal. I kissed a patient.” She wrung her hands.

“Technically,” he said, feeling a bit panicky, “I kissed you.”

“But I allowed it to happen.” She ran distressed fingers through her hair.

He loved the way it moved like a shimmery curtain of dark water, nearly black and oh so thick. God, she was the most beautiful thing on the face of the earth.

“I should have stopped you,” she said. “Bitten your lip or kneed you in the groin, or—”

“Except you didn't. Because you liked it.”

She smacked her forehead with a palm, as if something monumental had just occurred to her. “It was
the damn hope chest wine. That's what caused me to let down my guard.”

“Hope chest wine? What are you talking about?”

“It wasn't me. It was the wine. Now that I've got the kiss out of my system, and the wine is all gone, I'll be fine. Absolutely fine,” she muttered to herself.

He'd never seen her like this, vulnerable, uncertain, lost. Not even when she fell into the pool and he dived in to save her. All he wanted was to make her feel better.

“Yes,” he said, reading her, figuring out what she needed and hopefully supplying it. “I'm sure it was the hope chest wine.”

“Good. Great. I'm glad we solved that mystery.” She straightened. “I'm going home now.”

She turned her back on him and walked away as fast as she could without breaking into a run.

A
nguished.

Kasha was anguished over what she'd done. It was the only word she had for the bullet of guilt, remorse, shame, and lust ricocheting around inside her body.

After arriving home from her amazing day and evening with Axel, she put on yoga pants and T-shirt, and at ten o'clock at night went immediately to her mat, and started sun salutations.

And yes, she knew sun salutations were a set to welcome the morning, but the poses helped to strengthen her resolve.

She pushed her body at a punishing pace, trying to outrun her emotions, but it wasn't working. She couldn't empty her mind of him. Yoga, the very thing she'd come to depend on to fix any and everything, failed her.

Sleep failed her too.

Hours later she lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, lips still tingly from his kiss.

She was at a crossroads. If she stayed on as Axel's therapist she risked betraying both herself and her profession in the most fundamental way. And yet, if she quit now, in the middle of things, she put her chances of getting custody of Emma in jeopardy, not to mention leaving Axel when he needed her the most.

It was only a couple more weeks. Soon he would be healed and no longer her responsibility. Surely she could resist the attraction for that long.

But she hadn't been able to resist kissing him. What was that all about?

The wine, she told herself.

It was the fault of the wine. If she hadn't been drunk on True Love wine . . .

Shifting the blame. No. She was responsible for her actions. She drank the wine of her own accord. Her choice. Badly made.

Time for another choice. A better one. A healthier one.

Quit.

Walk away.

Some might say it was the cowardly way. After all, wouldn't a brave woman stay and face her fears, her mistakes, and the repercussions? Face it head-on without hesitation.

No choice. She had no choice. There was only one honorable solution, and Kasha had to take it.

O
n Tuesday morning after his thrilling Memorial Day with Kasha, Axel woke feeling out of sorts.

He'd slept like crap.

Unable to get comfortable, his shoulder throbbing after the long day on the Jet Ski, and beleaguered by fevered fantasies of his sexy physical therapist, he'd spent a restless night alone in his big empty bed.

In the drifting remnants of dreams, he savored Kasha's lips again, sweet as the True Love wine they'd shared. She tasted of mysteries and moonbeams, magic and midnight murmurs.

Dumb move.

That kiss.

She was his therapist and he needed her. Hadn't really realized exactly how much he did need her until she'd shown up in his life with her willowy smiles and calm, quiet ways.

He was hard-charging. Or at least he had been for most of his life. He understood what it took to make it to the top of the heap. Focus. Dedication. The refusal to quit no matter how hard things got or how bleak they looked. Pipe dreams were nothing but lofty goals acted upon, and if he knew nothing else, Axel knew how to take action.

That same pragmatism told him he wasn't a kid anymore, and that no matter how hard he battled to achieve the pinnacle of success, at his age, he might never make it to where he wanted to go.

The Yankees.

But that didn't mean he was going to quit trying. This was his last shot. He knew that. He was thirty years old, with his best years on the diamond behind him. If he made a misstep now, it was all over.

The thought of life after baseball sickened him. He felt as if a small, panicked animal was trapped in the basement of his soul, clawing and scratching mindlessly, desperate to escape.

What would he do without baseball? Who would
he be? It was all he'd ever known. It was the only thing that had brought him back after losing Dylan. How could he willingly leave it behind?

He needed baseball. He wanted Kasha. Two different things.

But she had his back. One hundred percent. She was a woman of integrity, and he understood she would always tell him the truth, painful or not.

Which was why he'd listened to Kasha when everything inside him had been crying out for him to roll the dice, take the gamble, accept the odds, and go for the surgery.

Yet, ever since her calm voice had cut through the bullshit bouncing around the physical therapy room that first day, his dream of playing for the Yankees had started to seem emptier and lonelier. And sometimes he couldn't even remember what he was pursuing it for.

Then he would think of Dylan, and his son's cute boyish face and earnest eyes, and everything inside him rallied to one, singular goal, the goal that would make his son proud.

Playing for the Yankees might be a long shot, but every fiber in Axel's being pushed him forward, as if success was guaranteed. All he had to do was commit himself to the goal one hundred percent.

He could do this. He would do this. He
had
to do this. Failure was not an option.

But Kasha held the key. His future hinged on the fulcrum of the dark-haired, exotic-looking beauty.

She intrigued him.

From the moment he laid eyes on Kasha, her almond eyes calm and unreadable as she stared at him, he'd been captive. He'd been bare-chested and cocky and she'd been the only woman in a roomful
of managers and coaches and doctors in an MLB therapy room. He'd immediately wanted to know who this goddess was and why she was there. And the more interaction he had with her, the more she fascinated him.

How was she this morning? he fretted.

Axel knew she was beating herself up about the kiss. And he feared she was on the verge of dumping him as a client. He didn't blame her. He'd been out of line, and the last thing he wanted was to cause her any pain.

He pulled out his phone to text her. To say something light and breezy, just to let her know he was thinking of her, and that all was well between them. But he couldn't think of the right words to type. How could he express on a phone screen what he was feeling when he was unsure of where her head was at?

Or his, for that matter.

No. He would wait until she got here. See her face-to-face.

Resolved, he got up before dawn, went into the gym, and got down to work.

B
undle of nerves.

Kasha finally understood what that phrase meant. Muscles tight, heart beating erratically, she drove to the ranch at her usual time on Tuesday morning. Stomach heavy with the news she needed to deliver.

Axel answered the front door in paint-stained gray gym shorts, a white T-shirt, and a weekend's growth of beard. He looked utterly delicious.

“Mornin'.” He gave an irresistible smile.

She pressed her lips together.
Resist! Resist!

“Okay.” He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing, and stepped aside to let her enter.

The air between them throbbed with tension as she moved past him. Once in the living room, she stopped and turned to face him, her heart thundering so loudly she could barely think. “We need to talk.”

“Here?” An uneasy darkness settled into the hollows of his cheeks.

“The Creedys are back?”

“Yes.”

“Let's go into the gym,” she said, wanting a place where they wouldn't be overheard.

“Sure, sure.” He bobbed his head, and led the way.

Kasha couldn't help watching the way his hard-muscled rump moved beneath those shirts.
For crying out loud, stop it!

Inside the gym, she saw the easel was set up underneath the skylight, facing away from the entryway so that all she could see was the back of the canvas. A plethora of paints were arranged on a small table next to the easel.

Eager for a peek at how much progress he'd made, Kasha rounded the easel.

She took one look at the canvas, startled, and caught her breath. “It's me. You're painting me.”

He smiled a sunbeam smile. Nodded.

She exhaled sharply, stunned by the grab bag of emotions surging through her. “I can't believe you're painting me.”

There was her face floating on the canvas. She was standing on a boat dock, gazing out across Stardust Lake, a light shawl fluttering around her shoulders, a dozen Mason jar lanterns strewn across the boards behind her. She looked calm, serene, queenly . . .

And untouchable.

Her muscles jerked.

Was this how Axel really saw her? Impervious. Aloof. Self-contained. A sense of isolation pulsed through her, strange and yet all too familiar.

“Why can't you believe it?” he said huskily. “You're beautiful.”

“I'm not the kind of woman men paint portraits of.”

“Pardon my French, Sphinx, but I call bullshit. You're flipping gorgeous.”

“It was not always easy growing up a mixed-race girl in a white-bread world.” She waved a hand, signifying Stardust at large. “But luckily times are changing. There were many times I was made to feel ugly.”