Sliding Home (30 page)

After a second blow on her whistle, Sonya introduced the students to
Rhaden and Revelle. The boys showed momentary interest in him as a ballplayer
before their gazes locked on Revelle. The guys found her hot; the girls felt
jealous.

“Let's give out the awards,” the teacher requested. “The sooner we
return to school, the better.” The kid Rhaden now knew as Samson was shifty.
Camera in hand, the boy cut behind Revelle and attempted a snapshot of her butt
as she bent over the teacher's desk to retrieve the first-place ribbon.

Rhaden was quick. He covered the camera lens with his hand, and Samson's
click captured Rhaden's palm.

“Busted,” he said to the sixth grader.

Samson cocked his head, showed no remorse. For a twelve-year-old, the
kid had balls. He whipped up his camera and shot Rhaden dead in the eyes. The
flash exploded, and Rhaden saw stars. He blinked until his eyes watered. When
his vision cleared, he found Samson chatting up Revelle.

He's a sixth grader,
Rhaden repeated to himself. Twelve going on twenty. Rhaden had been hot
for older chicks at that age too. Revelle was sophisticated, sexy, and would
inspire adolescent erections. Adult ones too, judging by his constant state of
arousal.

He caught her eye and she smiled at him. A crook of her finger and he
crossed to her. “You can announce the winner.” She handed him the ribbon.

Rhaden led with, “All the photographs were great. The blue ribbon goes
to Herita Suarez for
The Playground.”

“Stupid-ass picture,” said Samson, which prompted the other boys to boo
as well. Herita flipped Samson the bird and claimed her ribbon.

“Everyone else gets an honorable mention.” Revelle went on to pass out
the red ribbons. Most ribbons ended up on the floor. Only a handful found
pockets.

Revelle was a saint, Rhaden decided. She didn't criticize or demand
manners from the kids. Instead, she said, “How about popcorn and a soda?”

Sonya Garrett blocked the stampede to the table where the curator had
laid out the snacks. “No,” she stated with the authority of a drill sergeant. “You
lost your snack privileges last Friday when you trashed the classroom with cake
and ice cream brought in for Herita's birthday. We leave Collage the way we
came: no food fight, no messes.”

Samson called Miss Garrett a very bad name. The other kids smirked their
agreement. “Back to the bus,” the teacher ordered.

More pushing, shoving, and jostling ensued as they all tried to fit
through the door at once. Only Samson Banks remained. He circled toward the
snack table, scooped a handful of popcorn, stuffed his mouth. He then inched
along the chalkboard, swiped something off the lip, and pocketed it.

Rhaden wasn't the kid's teacher and held no authority over him, yet he
called the boy out. “Samson?”

The sixth grader had one foot out the door. “What'd I do?” Popcorn
sprayed and his defenses went up.

“You tell me.” Rhaden cut his gaze to the chalkboard.

Samson gave him a fuck-you glare. “Christ, the chalk?”

Rhaden nodded. “Put it back.”

The boy jammed one hand in his baggy jeans pocket, produced the short
white stick. “It's chalk, asshole—a stupid piece of chalk.”

“It's stealing,” Rhaden stated. “Chalk today, a car tomorrow.”

“My dad and uncle got busted for hot-wiring, then carjacking.” Samson
didn't seem fazed. “They're both at Arstole State.”

A maximum-security prison. Samson's petty theft could lead to felonies,
and six years down the road, he would be charged as an adult. He could join his
relatives behind bars.

Rhaden pulled out his wallet, removed a business card. “Ever hear of
First Base?” he asked.

Samson nodded. “One of my cousins got invited.”

Rhaden had founded the facility for at-risk boys. Sports, tutoring, and
counseling taught the eight-to fourteen-year-olds to exercise both their minds
and bodies. Maybe, just maybe, a few would rise above gangs, drugs, and
violence.

Rhaden flipped Samson the card. “You're welcome to join.”

“Not interested.” Samson blew him off. “First Base is across town from
where I live. My mom don't have a car. I ain't walking.”

Rhaden pointed to two phone numbers on the card. “Call for a ride.
Someone will pick you up.”

Samson sniffed before he stuck the card under the elastic band on his
boxers. “I'll jam on it.” He then passed Rhaden what he'd stolen. “You got a
thing for chalk?”

“The chalk belongs to Collage, and Ms. Sullivan takes pride in the
schoolhouse,” Rhaden told him.

Samson was quick. “You got the burn for her?”

“She's a friend” was all Rhaden gave up.

The kid smirked. “Yeah, right, and I don't smoke pot.”

“The bus, Samson.” His teacher pointed to the door. “Keep your window up
on the ride back to school and no spitting on passing cars.”

“Or what, detention?” Samson snorted.

“Out-of-school suspension,” Sonya Garrett threatened.

Rhaden caught the look in Samson's eyes—the boy liked the second option.
He could hang out with no hassles. Mindless shit would get him nowhere.

Rhaden had offered First Base, yet he never pushed a kid to comply. He
hoped Samson would smarten up, that he'd call the club, get a bead on life
outside the projects.

“A wild group today,” Revelle commented as she came to stand beside him.
She looked weary.

He ran one hand along the back of his neck. “Few boundaries, little
discipline,
Lord of the Flies
chaos.”

She smiled her agreement.

“Popcorn, anyone?” Anne Malone called from the snack table.

“Keep some for yourself, and Ziploc the rest,” Rhaden suggested on the
spur of the moment. “We'd like two sodas to go as well.”

Revelle lifted a brow. “Shouldn't you return to the park?”

He shook his head. “I spent time at the stadium this morning. Tomorrow
we face Ottawa.” His grin curved. “This afternoon, you're mine. I'm not above
kidnapping.”

She licked her lips. “I'll go willingly.”

The curator delivered their snacks and they were off. His hands itched to
help Revelle onto the front seat of his jacked-up truck, but she surprised him.
One hop, and she pulled herself up and in. Her full skirt flared, flashed the
back of her thighs. The lady had damn fine legs.

Revelle Sullivan strapped herself into the cab of the truck. Her heart
beat as wildly as the revved-up engine. She'd never played hooky from work. She
was a driven woman, professional and successful. Game's On was attached to the
Rogues organization. It meant everything to her.

Rhaden Dunn meant more.

She had phone calls to return and a dinner meeting to attend, yet all
commitments blurred next to this man. Rumor had him between women. She hoped to
slide into his life and find the perfect fit.

She withdrew her BlackBerry from her brown suede purse and sent a text
message to Dayne Sheridan. She requested that her appointments be rescheduled
for another day.

Dayne was competent and would hold the office together in her absence.
Someday, if all went well, Dayne could become her partner. Revelle had that much
faith in her.

Dayne's future was linked to Kason Rhodes; of that, Revelle was certain.
The left fielder had stripped Dayne with his eyes at the Platinum shoot. The
sexual smolder made a woman feel desired and cherished. And all his.

Revelle hoped Rhaden would soon be turning that look on her. Hiker Hills
would certainly give him ample opportunity.

West of Richmond, the hills were a squatty second cousin to the majestic
Blue Ridge Mountains. The entire area was a great place to hike, dirt bike, and
go offroading.

The scenery was phenomenal. Spring renewed nature after a rough winter.
The back trail angled, wound, and drew them higher up the hill. Revelle cracked
her window and let the wind blow over her face and through her hair. She felt
free of responsibility. An absolute first for her.

“There's no road!” Her eyes went wide when Rhaden cut the wheel and the
truck shot between two spruce trees. The low-hanging branches slapped the
windshield, pivoted the outside mirrors. He shifted into four-wheel drive and
traction gripped the rough terrain.

The road less traveled cut into the hillside and snaked its way along
the slope in a steady climb. The truck bumped, bounced, and jarred her back
fillings.

The Ford picked up speed beyond the halfway marker. There was a moment
of clear-cut driving along a grassy knoll before the road continued into the
brush.

Several more miles, and Rhaden cut the engine at a creek crossing. The
hills formed a valley, green and lush. The sunlight was thick, golden, and cast
a sheen on a small pond banked by long gray slabs and enormous boulders.

Their approach sent geese into flight, and the idyllic setting was left
to them alone.

Clean air and wide-open spaces. Revelle had the sudden urge to go
barefoot, to feel the grass under her feet. She wanted to dip her toes into the
pond, perhaps wade up to her knees.

She slipped off her pumps and rolled down her stockings. She curled her
toes, felt rooted to the earth.

“This meadow is beautiful,” she said to Rhaden.

“So are you.” He was staring at her, his expression one of intense
interest. He'd kicked off his loafers, rolled up his pant legs, untucked his
blue button-down. His masculinity was both casual and sexy.

“Take a walk?” He offered his hand.

She liked the athletic roughness of his palm as they laced fingers. His
body heat caressed her side. His scent was as clean as the starch on his shirt
collar. His five-o'clock shadow arrived at three.

They strolled along tire tracks from previous visitors. All imprints stopped
at the pond. “High school kids come here to skinny dip and make out,” he told
her. “Mother Nature keeps their secret.”

They moved to a boulder, only wide enough for one person. Before she
could protest, Rhaden pulled her down on his lap.

He folded his hands beneath her breasts.

She rested her cheek against his chest.

The muscles in his legs tightened, his arousal now evident. She suddenly
ached for the man. She didn't dip her head, nor did she blush.

His desire made her bold. She rolled her hips against him, discovered he
was nicely sized.

“You didn't send flowers this week.” Her voice was no more than a
whisper.

“Did you miss them?” The warmth of his breath teased her throat.

She swallowed. “My desk seemed empty.”

She'd hoped for a delivery, had gone as far as to clear a spot on her
desk in case an arrangement arrived. Friday came and went, and no roses. She'd
worried Rhaden had lost interest.

“It's time you think of me beyond a weekly bouquet.”

She turned slightly. “You're on my mind constantly, ever since you were
injured against the Pirates.”

She caught his surprise. “That was last September.”

She touched the bump on his nose. “I caught the game from the owner's
box. I watched the runner slide into first, saw you take that batting helmet to
the face. My nose hurt as much as yours.”

A groove deepened in his cheek as he grinned. “Damn, I never knew.”

“You do now,” she said on a sigh. “We work together, Rhaden. My uncle
frowns on in-house fraternization. I've never dated a ballplayer. People talk.
I don't want to go public. I'm honestly not certain—”

He took her mouth and erased all doubt.

Her pulse quickened as she poured seven months of wanting him into her
kiss.

She twisted in his lap and her skirt hiked high. A tug on her hem, and
she fully straddled him.

His maleness bound her before he'd even touched her.