Barefoot in the Rain (30 page)

But she looked every bit as panicked by that as she had been by the lightning.

P
anic? Let him think that. It beat the truth.

Jocelyn followed Will around the dugout to the clubhouse, staying close to the concrete of the structure, one wary eye on the sky, the other on the man who led the way.

It was one thing to treasure her childhood feelings and teenage crush. It was one thing to let go of her initial anger that he was caring for Guy and see Will for the remarkable, attractive man he’d grown to be.

But the feelings that had just rocked her down to her bare toes?

No. Those were something altogether different, and those feelings
had
to stop. Now. Because those feelings belonged to a person who had no control. Or at least they belonged to a deluded dreamer who thought love was something good and grand and lasting.

Not Jocelyn Bloom. She wasn’t deluded and she sure as hell didn’t harbor those dreams.

“Wish we could get into the clubhouse.” Will jiggled the rusted knob of the small baseball clubhouse on the other side of the dugout. “But they changed those locks.” A few feet to the left, he stabbed the key into the metal door of a stand-alone structure she’d seen a hundred times but never imagined she’d walk into.

As he opened the door and guided her in, he ran his hand along the jamb. “Good. Rubber stripping. At least we won’t fry if we get hit by lightning. Just…” He smiled as he pulled the door closed and trapped them in darkness. “Fry another way.”

“How long do you think we have to wait it out in here?” How long would she be locked in a dark closet with Will, her new, raw, frightening feelings so close to the surface they could bubble up at the first clap of thunder—or with the first heated kiss?

“As long as you want to.”

“They’re going to get worried about me,” Jocelyn said, blinking to get her night vision, but it was still nearly pitch black.

And then it wasn’t, as Will hit the switch and the little room was washed in yellow light, revealing a five-foot-square mess of bats, buckets of balls, lost gloves, batting helmets, and giant catcher’s vests hanging like dead men from hooks along the wall.

He stared at her, intense and direct. She tightened her grip on the shirt bundled against her chest and met his gaze. Could he read the vulnerability that coursed through her?

“Nothing is going to happen in here if you don’t want it to, Joss. Lights can stay on.”

But all the light did was highlight the set of his jaw, the burn in his eyes, and the rise and fall of his stunning chest. Against her will, her gaze dropped over that sight, down to his jeans, and—

She looked back up. “Too bright. Turn them off.”

Immediately they were back in black, surrounded by the echo of thunder and the rain on the roof. The dizzying smell of leather and clay, familiar scents that transported her back a decade and a half to a time when the mere scrape of metal cleats on concrete made her knees go weak.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, reading her, of course.

“Nothing, I…”

“Something’s the matter.”

“I…”
Think, Joss
. “I don’t want the first time to be in a closet,” she whispered, only a little surprised by the actual truth of that admission.

“Well, that’s some good news.”

It was? “What is?”

“That there’s going to be a first time for us.” His seductive tone, like the evaporating rain, left a fine chill on her skin. And yet she let her hands fall to her sides, the shirt still hooked to her fingertips, her bare breasts completely exposed to him.

He stood about six inches away, making no move.

“Jocelyn?”

“Mmmm?”

“Are you over that moment of panic?”

Not even close. “I am.” God, she wanted to touch him. Just make this about fulfilling her need and taking that crazy ride of complete abandon again. Why did he have to mention
love
out there on the field?

She was just getting used to the idea of sex and he’d brought up the only thing scarier, the only thing that stole any shred of control.

He took one step forward and they touched. His bare chest to her bare chest. His legs against her legs. His—

Oh
God
. He was so hard.

He pressed a huge, daunting, mighty erection against her stomach and all she could do was drop her shirt with a soft
whoompf
.

“So, what happened out there?” he asked. “Are you scared of lightning?”

“I’m scared of…”
Love
. “This.”

“Of being with me?”

Define
being
. “Maybe.”

He tipped her chin with his thumb, then cupped her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. The air vent above the door let in a whisper of ambient light, enough to see how serious he was. “Are you scared of sex?”

“It always reminds me of… that night,” she admitted. “And what happened.”

“Oh,” he angled his head, sympathy all over his expression, agony in the single syllable. “Then all the more reason for us to try to make new memories.”

She closed her eyes. “You always know the right thing to say.”

“And do.” He pressed against her, making her nipples pucker against his warm, wet chest. Between her legs, the twisting coil of need tightened again. Her fingers grew heavy and numb. Her head buzzed.

This was like being drunk. Like being helpless. God, she hated helplessness. More than anything.

“It’s also scary to lose control.” Maybe it was both.
Loss of control, loss of sanity, equaled pain and misery. Was that the equation that added up in her head every time she felt like this?

Not that anyone other than Will had ever made her feel
quite
like this.

“I can give you control,” he said softly, kissing her first on the forehead. “You want to call the shots?”

She nodded, slack-jawed at how much need coursed through her.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to… not lose control.”

“Then you take charge,” he said, gently sliding his hands over her bare arms. “You call the game, Coach.”

She wet her lips, but it didn’t help her parched mouth. She put her hands on his shoulders. God, she loved those shoulders. Big, strong, reliable, sexy shoulders.

She splayed her hands over the muscles, dragging her fingers down, closer to what she wanted. Over his abs, closing her eyes so that every sense was focused on the masculine ripples of each perfectly formed muscle.

She could do this. She could do this and not hear the accusations and feel the punches, not relive the night when letting loose had caused her so much pain.

Forcing the memory away, she continued down to her knees, unbuttoning his jeans on the way, scraping the zipper.

He was naked under there, erect and pulsing and as big as she’d always imagined.

And, oh, Lord almighty, she had imagined.

“Joss.” His fingers tangled in her hair. His skin smelled like salt and something sexy she couldn’t identify. Not sweat. Just man.

A stone stabbed her knee and sweat stung her skin. Through the slotted vent above the door, lightning flashed, one second of near-illumination that let her see his swollen, wet, smooth tip as she freed him.

He pushed the jeans down and guided her mouth to him, murmuring, “Please.”

She had control. Complete, utter, blissful control. And she took it, sucking gently at first, then using her hand to fondle and stroke him.

His knees buckled and he swore and begged and plunged in and out of her mouth, over and over again, slow then fast, deep then shallow, long strokes then quick ones. Her hands moved, her tongue licked, and her mouth took him all the way until he lost all the control she held so tightly. With a low, long, helpless growl of release, he spurted into her mouth, grasping her head with two hands and almost crying with each squeeze of pure relief.

Her head thrummed with the thrill of it. The sheer blissful wonder of making Will come with just her hands and mouth. Finally, she released his shaft and looked up at him.

His face was still wet from the—

No, that wasn’t rain. Very slowly she stood, not at all sure her legs could do their job.

“Will?”

He just closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to speak.

“Oh, Will.” She put her hands on his face. “Don’t.”

“I’m so sorry, Jocelyn.” He barely whispered the words. “For not being there when you needed me.”

Suddenly she was cold. In this tiny, airless room,which was probably ninety degrees and a hundred percent
humidity, she was cold. The chill came from inside, from her chest—from her heart. Icy, empty coldness. “Will, if you can’t forget what you saw in those pictures, then I can’t be with you.”

He nodded, as if he understood. “I will.” He pulled her into a hug, holding her close, his body still quivering from his orgasm. “I promise I will.”

But could he?

When she shivered, Will bent down and grabbed her blouse, shaking it out and handing it to her. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, but it was wet and made her even colder.

“The storm’s moving away. Let’s go home, babe,” he whispered. “I want you in bed with me tonight.”

Now. She had to explain. Had to tell him the truth.

“You know that moment when… you realize that…” She fought for a breath and the right words. “You want something you can never have?”

“Yeah.” He puffed out a soft laugh. “I know that moment.”

“Well, that’s why I froze.”

“What do you want that you can never have?”

Love. Trust. Sex. A complete and total loss of control. “Um, Will, there are things about me you don’t know. Things you might not believe even if I told you.”

“Oh.” It was no more than a soft moan. “Honey.” Like he’d lost a battle, he reached for her, pulling her into him, pressing them together, squeezing so hard she almost couldn’t breathe. “I don’t care about your past. I don’t even care if… if…”

She stilled, waiting for him to finish. “If what?” she prompted when he didn’t.

“Whatever happened in California, I don’t care.”

It was more like what
didn’t
happen, but if he wanted to go there, it was easier for her.

“Well, I’m not ready to… spend the night with you,” she admitted.

With a soft sigh, he buttoned her blouse, all the way to the very top. “I can wait. I’m pretty good at that, as you know.” Holding her hand, he led her back out into the soft evening rain.

G
uy looked around at the strangers in his living room, all piled in there after the rainstorm started.

Who
were
these people? A thread of fear wrapped around his chest as he glanced from one to another, trying—and failing—to put names with the faces. There was the lady with wavy copper hair holding hands with the young man who made her laugh a lot.

A teenager who never shut the heck up and couldn’t say a sentence without the word “like” in it, but she’d been very kind to him when they’d played cards and he kept forgetting how many you had to put down for all the royal cards and aces.

Then there was Blondie, who blew in and out of the room like a breath of fresh air, kind of pretending she owned the place, the way she doled out drinks and jokes.

But
where was William
?

Good Lord in heaven, that’s who was missing. He hadn’t lost William again, had he? Not his son. Not like the other time.

An old dull ache he’d long ago learned to ignore pressed on his heart, like a mallet on the inside, throbbing and reminding him of things he wanted to forget.

His son.

“Where’s William?” he called out, silencing the soft buzz of conversation as everyone turned to him at once. He felt a flush of shame for yelling and adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “I haven’t seen him,” he added sheepishly.

A woman he’d barely talked to came out of the kitchen. “Jocelyn went to find him, and then it started raining. I assume they ran into a restaurant or something.”

“You assume?” Guy didn’t mean to boom the question or make the teenager across from him flinch in surprise. “What if something happened to him?”

Where the heck would that leave Guy? William was
everything
.