Chasing Marisol (Blueprint to Love Book 3) (15 page)

"I promised I'd help him work on his swing tomorrow." Jeff’s gaze followed her as she shifted in her chair. "When do his practices start?"

Unlike her time with Nick, when she'd foolishly fallen in love way too fast— this time Mari would be careful. This time she would maintain an emotional distance. Keep it light and friendly. She would not dream of him, she would not make plans for him. She would appreciate this evening for what it was. And move on.

"Peewee league practice starts next week." She sipped her wine, hoping to cover the sudden hoarseness revealed in her voice. She'd promised to keep her emotions under tight control. But the thought of him spending more time with Hector filled her with trepidation. And longing.

It wasn't fair. That he could be so in tune with her son— yet already distancing himself from
her
. Mari was suddenly unsure whether she should allow their friendship to continue when she knew how it would end. Why should Hector have his heart broken, too?

"What time are you picking him up in the morning from his party?"

"Around nine. What time did you want-" As the silence lengthened, Marisol hesitated. For the first time all evening, she felt awkward, sensing the charmed atmosphere surrounding them begin to fade. How could something so magical turn out to be so fleeting? "I guess I can take him to the park to meet you. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely. I promised." Stifling a yawn, Jeff grinned as he rose from the table. "Not only have you completely exhausted me tonight, but I barely got any sleep last night either."

Her heart stuttered in spite of her resolve. "Why?"

Leaning over her chair, he brushed his mouth against the rocketing pulse in her throat. "After last night on your front porch? How can you even ask?"

The heat in Jeff's eyes made her feel slightly better. At least that, she recognized. But . . . was heat all there was? Marisol wondered whether he even knew what he wanted. Between his ambivalence toward her— toward any woman, probably— and her mounting confusion, they made quite a pair. She began gathering their glasses. Her beautiful, magical evening was quickly morphing into a pumpkin.

"This won't take long to clean up."

"I promised to help with the dishes-"

"If you need to leave-" Her words, spoken over his, sounded as awkward as they felt. Offering him a weak smile, her words trailed off.

He stared at her for several seconds, his eyes unreadable in the flickering candlelight. "Right— of course. I should go."

"So, you want to meet us there— at the park?"

"Uh— yeah. That'll work." Jeff carried several dishes in, placing them on the counter before making an elaborate show of searching for his keys. Her temper flaring, Mari schooled herself against it. She couldn't control
his
desire to place distance between them. Even if it was foolish. He would flee— when they could have left the dishes on the counter, turned out the lights and headed upstairs. Together.

Damn it, what was wrong with him? What was he so afraid of? If anyone had a right to be terrified— it was her. Yet, there she stood, willing to toss aside her good sense. And how stupid was that?

"I'll walk you out." Rather than drag out their awkward goodbyes under the harsh and unforgiving foyer lights, Marisol slipped out the front door to the darkened porch where jasmine danced on the breeze.

"Mari— I had a great time. I don't want to leave with you thinking otherwise."

She placed a hand on his arm, her touch light . . . again grateful for the darkness closing in around them. "I did, too. We both got what we wanted tonight. Let's not read too much into it."

Jeff stiffened as her words hit home. "What does that mean?"

"You wanted to sleep with me and I wanted the same. For you, it was a challenge. For me— it had been awhile . . . and I— needed to feel wanted again." Leaning in, she brushed his cheek with her lips, but his jaw had suddenly become as unyielding as the rest of him.

"That's not-" His usually confident voice faltered. "Marisol. . . I care about you."

"And I like you, too." She kept her voice light, though her heart sank like lead in her chest. She wasn't very skilled at subterfuge. Desperate for the safety of her darkened house, Mari wanted to burrow under the covers and release the scalding tears that were suddenly burning the back of her throat.

"Good night, Jeff. We'll see you at the park." Once inside, she resisted the impulse to peek out the window. Watching him leave would only bury under a pile of sadness the evening that had started with such promise.  

Chapter 7

How in hell had the best night of his life suddenly gone so wrong? Jeff stood on the darkened walkway, his feet unwilling to move toward the driveway. Like a car missing the bend in the road, his conversation with Marisol had just careened through a guardrail into a darkened forest. And the way his body was still tightened like a fist— he knew he'd just crashed into a big, friggin' tree.

His feet finally moving, he closed the gap to his car, his brain incapable— or unwilling— to digest what had just occurred. For unknown reasons, Jeff was hyper aware of his own breathing— the angry rasps he dragged in and released.
Angry?
Why the hell should he be upset? In the bro playbook he'd been the recipient of the textbook
perfect
evening. Great food. Fantastic sex with a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman who knew how to accurately read his playbook, he amended, recalling their final conversation. No pleading with him to spend the night. The perfect evening. No muss. No fuss. No strings.

Jeff continued breathing, ignoring his increasing agitation. His nose burned with the exotic, heady, sensual scent of jasmine— the smell conjuring memories that quickly overwhelmed his senses. His peripheral vision took in her quiet, slumbering neighborhood. Lights off, cars parked in neatly laid out driveways. A lone truck parked on the street outside  Marisol's house. Suburbia at its finest. All the things Jeff wasn't missing in his life. Would
never
miss. Would never, ever want for himself. He watched the light wink on in a room upstairs. Her bedroom.

Still jacked-up, he took another step toward his car, but Jeff’s gaze remained glued to the light. A shadow moved fleetingly across the curtains. He wasn't sure if he'd actually seen Marisol or simply imagined it . . . taking her clothes off . . . slipping on the faded baseball shirt she'd pulled on earlier. He could easily visualize her sleeping in it. Mari wasn't the type to wear sexy lingerie. She wouldn't feel the need to impress. She was comfortable with who she was— in every way. With the decisions she'd made in her life. With the decisions she continued to make, adjusting her path according to what was best for Hector.

It was her words. Jeff froze on the path as he recalled them. That she'd only been a challenge for him. The finality in her expression as she'd said them. As though she
knew
. As though she knew— him. And she'd already accepted that he would likely move on.

Or— was she telling him
she
was moving on? Because that wasn't necessarily how the playbook worked. Was this about Hector? Or had he merely been the answer to a need? What had she said? Something about sex— about not having it for a while. About needing to feel wanted. . . Jeff had never pried over her previous relationships. He'd sensed from Mari’s extreme caution there had been someone before him. Someone important. Someone who'd hurt her. But she'd built such a wall around herself he hadn't tried to learn more. Her past had seemed off limits.

Frankly, with the women in his past Jeff had been cool with that. He hadn't particularly cared about their baggage because the likelihood was he wouldn't be sticking around. But tonight, it had grown in importance. He wanted to know what was going on in Mari's head. And get it right with her. Get back on track. Just because there couldn't be anything deeper between them. . . it didn't mean they couldn't continue what they'd shared tonight. It didn't mean they couldn't be friends.

Jeff winced over that lie. They already
were
friends. But now, that would be thrown off. Sex always changed things— and sometimes not for the better. Clearly, tonight proved that. Maybe she was worried about Hector— in case they stopped seeing each other. Hell— maybe Marisol just didn't want him in the little boy's life— or hers.

Okay . . . so maybe he'd panicked. Maybe Mari had sensed it. Something about
her
had knocked him on his ass tonight. But Jeff assumed he'd covered his tracks pretty well. He'd remained his usual charming, level-headed self. He hadn't shown fear. He sure as hell hadn't fallen all over himself looking desperate for more. But Marisol was observant. If she'd picked up on his vibe of uncertainty . . . maybe she'd resented it.

But how the hell was he supposed to act? Like everything was fine? When every molecule in his body had been screaming for him to get out.
Now. Fast
. Before something dangerous happened. Something huge and overwhelming.

The whole night with her had been like . . . standing on the edge of a cliff. All he'd wanted was to dive over the side with her. But— what the hell? He
barely
knew her. He'd slept with her once. Okay— more than once. But for God's sake . . . it was too soon. A
year
from now would be too soon. The vice around his chest tightened as the battle inside him grew more heated. He could never risk it . . . could never accept that sort of drastic change in his life. Not this quick. Hell— probably not ever.

But what he was
really
unprepared for . . . what he couldn't allow— was letting it end this way. To see Mari at the park tomorrow . . . and know he couldn't touch her. To see those beautiful eyes and remember how she'd gazed at him tonight. With sensual heat and drowsy satisfaction. With fondness. And vulnerability.

Tomorrow, Marisol would stare at him with coolness. With distance. Spinning on his heel, Jeff jogged back, taking the porch steps two at a time. Before any sense of composure could return, he pressed her buzzer. His free hand rapped on the door. Though he acted with instinctive purpose, Jeff had no clue what he would say. But damn it, whatever it was— she would listen to him.

He was still knocking when Mari jerked the door open. He read the flash of annoyance in her eyes before it was replaced with concern. Her expression suggested he probably wasn't exuding anything resembling confidence or charm. "Jeff— what is it?"

Her voice. The husky, melodic, sexy accent exploded across his nerve endings. As his gaze finally refocused, Jeff noticed the blessed heat that had risen in her cheeks. At least he had a clue to go by. He was releasing a sigh of relief when he noticed her red-rimmed eyes. And everything inside him stilled. His heartbeat began to slow from its current gallop. His racing, jumbled thoughts synthesized down to one immediate fact. Marisol had been crying. "I need— I want . . . to say something."

She stood, not quite patiently as the silence lengthened between them. As he'd imagined, Mari's tee shirt was covered haphazardly with a robe. Hair hanging past her shoulders, the wild disarray cried out for his touch. Instead, he fisted his hand at his side.

"It's getting late, Jeff. What did you want?" 

His anger dissipated, replaced with a new, more unnerving anxiety. "Mari— I'm sorry about tonight." There. He'd said it. Feeling lightheaded, Jeff sucked in much needed oxygen.

Her eyes revealed nothing. "You're sorry. About what?"

Hell— wasn't ‘sorry’ good enough? Why did women always push for specifics? "I know that— I mean . . . you probably thought I was acting a little strange . . . after-" He acknowledged the flash of pain in her eyes before the shields rose.

"Then perhaps I should apologize, too."

Communication. Relief surged through him. This was good. Everything would be fine-

"I expect your usual evening is dinner first,
followed by
sex. Then you get to bolt. I'm sorry I messed up the plan. All that awkward . . . conversation. It's probably more work than you're used to." Mari wrapped her arms around her waist, the subconscious tell revealing less about anger than a need to protect herself. "We don't have to do this again."

His step toward her was involuntary as a chill strafed down his spine. "Marisol— no. That's not what I meant-"

She smiled, revealing more misery than warmth. "I know how you operate. You wanted me. You pursued me. I
allowed
you to have me."

"Mari-" Jeff heard the gravelly hoarseness and wondered whether he'd ever sounded as desperate as he felt just then.

"It's okay."  Her tone sounded of pity as she patted his hand. "There's nothing to feel guilty over— if that's what you're feeling. I wasn't led on. I'm not hurt."

Her lie was betrayed by the redness of her eyes, by the husky catch to her voice. She leaned in to kiss his cheek, her smile brave. "You're free."

Capturing her in his arms, Jeff held her, drinking her in— the startled confusion in captivating eyes, her haunting scent, the way she'd begun trembling as she held herself rigid against him.

"Mari. . . you weren't a challenge." The tortured confession broke free on a whisper. "I mean— the day we met . . . that's how I saw you. I'll admit it. I took one look at you in that parking lot and I was a total jerk. But since then— I've gotten to know you . . . we've become-"

"Friends?" Her expression remained unmoved.

He dragged in a rasping breath. "You can't honestly believe that's all I wanted. . ." God— where the hell was he going with this? "Look . . . I don't know what happened tonight— but it's never happened before. And whatever it was. . . I'm not exactly sure I like it."

Her head popped up over his admission. Encouraged by the relief coursing through him, Jeff took another half step toward honesty. "I'm sort of . . . afraid of it."

"Then why are you here?"

Great question. One requiring honesty. It was
go
time. Or he'd be forced to walk. The way his gut was churning, honest was gonna suck. But revisiting the icy despair he'd just experienced— would suck worse. "Because I don't want this to end."

Yet.

Jeff left the door open for escape, if only in his own head. It was the only way he'd be able to regain control of the ground shifting under his feet. "I like you. Tonight was amazing. I've never-" He stopped himself before he made the mistake of revealing something he might regret— something she might misconstrue. Mari didn't need to know everything. Just enough to keep her-

"I want . . . to keep seeing you."

He felt the shiver course through her, felt his own body absorb it. "I like you, too. But don't you think it would be better to end this now? While we can still remain friends? We have to work together for the next few months. I don't want-"

To hate him when it ended?

"I don't want to fall for you." Mari stared up at him, her eyes worried. "I don't want Hector relying on you. He already does." Her admission slipped out in a voice thickening with tears. "He's been through too much.
I've
been through too much to risk-"

Her startled gaze shifted from him as she left the sentence unfinished. Jeff wanted to pursue it— to discover exactly what had her running scared. To pry it out of her. No matter that he was feeling the same way. But instinct told him their reasons were very different. And hers was an important clue into the secrets she kept from him.

"I can't promise-" Anything. Hell— he'd never come this far with any woman. To the point of speaking about feelings? To the point of negotiating something that might resemble a relationship? "I'm sort of in uncharted territory here. But— I'm willing-"

Jeff knew he had to say it right. Knew Mari would reject a careless effort. He had to reveal what he wanted. "I'd like to see where this goes . . . if you— would like that, too." 

Marisol released a gusting breath. He waited, unwilling to acknowledge how everything would come down to this single moment. How important this instant had suddenly become to his plans— whatever the hell they were.

When she smiled, his pulse surged with relief. With victory. His heartbeat roared in his ears, nearly drowning out her response. But when she slid her fingers through his, he knew. As she led him up the stairs, Jeff was nearly drunk with both relief and anticipation. When they stripped off their clothes, they met eagerly, with a new familiarity he welcomed. And when he held her in his arms after they made love, no unruly thoughts disrupted the peace— that he didn't want to be there— that he shouldn't stay— that he was breaking one of his own rules. There was only Mari. His mouth grazed a warm, satin shoulder as he pulled her tighter against him. And when he slept, he dreamed of her.

***

Fingers fluttering against the curtain, Marisol noticed the truck parked out front. "Dios!" She remembered to lower her voice as she scowled at the sight beyond the window. Glancing over her shoulder, she acknowledged the incredibly handsome man sprawled in her bed, dead asleep. Had last night been a dream? She still wasn't completely certain Jefferson was real. He'd returned. He'd spoken. Voluntarily. Of feelings.

Her scowl dissolved in a smile.
Don't get crazy, Mariboo
. It wasn't as though he'd talked of picking out china patterns. Slipping on her tee shirt, she unearthed the pair of running shorts she wore more for the expandable waistband than for actual athletic pursuits. Allowing herself one last admiring glance at Jeff's seriously chiseled body, she crept down the stairs, finger-combing her hair into a less wild version of the bedhead she'd spied in the mirror.

She tiptoed to the hall closet and removed Hector's bat, remembering to step over the creaking spot on the hardwood floor. Silently, she unlocked the front door and slid out to the porch. Mari took a moment to breathe in the heady, early morning scent of flowers and dew before she half-walked, half-ran to the end of the driveway. Pausing to catch her breath, she peeked around the hedge to assess the vehicle parked there. The pickup truck was nearly new, red and shiny. The windshield fogged from the early morning humidity and the heavy breathing of the man she knew she would find snoring in the front seat.