Crossing the Line Page 12

  “I was out,” she said softly, her gaze hooked on Dante’s lips.

  “You were safe,” he insisted.

  “You caught the ball as I slid into home plate. Clearly, I was out.”

  “I had both feet off the bag when I caught the ball, you were solidly safe.”

  “What’s with you two?” Phillip asked. “Elle shouldn’t be saying she was out and you shouldn’t be saying she was in.”

  “Does it really matter?” Elle asked.

  “Does it matter?” about ten members of her family exclaimed in unison. “Of course it matters!”

  And then they were off talking about family tradition and competitive sportsmanship and softball as a metaphor for life.

  “Does your family ever act like this?” Elle asked with a grin.

  “I don’t have a family,” he said.

  That took her aback and it struck her how very little she knew about him. “No one?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Mother? Father? Siblings?

  “All gone.”

  She wanted to ask him what happened, but the look in his eyes warned her off. That and the family coming to an agreement that Elle had officially been safe. Taking the victory she didn’t care about in the least, she went to sit in the dugout beside Charlotte and her mother while Dante returned to home plate in his position as catcher.

  As the game progressed and the sun grew hotter, some of the men started taking off their shirts. The ladies in the stands and in the dugout and on the field issued catcalls. By and large the Kingston men were in very good physical shape and the Kingston women appreciated their men.

  “Woo-hoo, take it off, Tom,” Charlotte hollered at her husband.

  “Let’s see it, babe,” Elle’s mother called to her father. “Show the kids that they aren’t the only ones who’ve got the goods.”

  Elle’s father good-naturedly stripped off his shirt, revealing that even at fifty-six he was still a toned, athletic man. She had to admit that her family had been blessed with good genes.

  The game came to a standstill as it turned into an all-out striptease, with the men strutting their stuff and flinging shirts about the softball diamond, until Dante was the only male still wearing his.

  “Dante, Dante, Dante.” One of Elle’s female cousins started a slow chant and clapped her hands.

  The others picked it up and soon every woman on their side of the park was chanting, “Dante, Dante, Dante.”

  Elle knew he was not used to this kind of familial ribbing. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d bolted for the Ducati, took off and never spoke to her again. The Kingstons could come on pretty strong, but then again, he was the one who’d shown up at her door insisting on bringing her here.

  Then Dante surprised her.

  “You wanna see some of this?” he asked the crowd and pointed at his chest with both thumbs. This wasn’t the serious, brooding doctor she knew. Curious, Elle leaned forward in her seat.

  More catcalls ensued as Dante slowly began pulling his shirt over his head. Charlotte brought two fingers to her mouth and let loose with a long whistle so loud that Tom, who was on the field at shortstop, scowled at his new bride.

  “Charlotte!” Elle exclaimed.

  “Hey.” Charlotte shrugged. “Just ’cause I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I can’t read the menu. Besides, I’m doing this for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Getting him out of his clothes so you can have a view of what you’re missing by not hooking up with him.”

  If only Charlotte knew.

  Dante wrestled off the shirt and twirled it over his head like a Chippendale dancer. Giggling, Elle blushed and covered her eyes with her hand.

  “We’re not shy,” a couple of Elle’s elderly aunts said as they threw dollar bills onto the softball field. The entire group hooted with laughter.

  Elle peeped at Dante’s bare chest. Last night in Pete Russell’s garage, she’d been too swept away by her hormones to fully appreciate what a buff stud Dante really was. Every muscle in his chest was ripped, rock-hard and clearly defined. He had the best body of any man on the softball diamond and that was saying a lot amidst a park full of well-chiseled men.

  The only thing she hadn’t counted on was the twinge of jealousy clawing through her as the other women ogled her man.

  Her man?

  Where had that thought come from? Immediately she batted it away.

  The game continued for another hour, the field loaded with half-naked men. They took a break before the next game, after Dante’s team won six to five when he hit a home run in the final inning.

  Everyone came back to the picnic area for another round of food and drink. Elle saw her brothers drag Dante over to the ice chests and proceed to pour a beer over his head, crowning their reigning champion with suds. Elle was sitting under an elm tree drinking sun tea and nibbling one of her mother’s homemade brownies when her father came over to perch on the picnic bench beside her.

  “So, Dad,” she said. “What do you think about Dante?” Her father had been the only one in her family who had seen through Mark and pegged him for the feckless jerk he was; she trusted his judgment.

  “I like him.” Her father nodded. “He’s smart and observant and a damned fine athlete. But you should be careful where Dante Nash is concerned.”

  Her heart rate kicked up at her father’s words of caution. “Why’s that?”

  “Because I’m fairly certain the man is hiding something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know what it is, but I’ve been a cop long enough to know someone with a big secret when I see him, and I’m afraid if you let your feelings for this guy get out of hand, you’re going to get hurt again.”

  “I’m a big girl, Dad.”

  He leaned over to tousle her hair. “That’s true but a father can’t help how he feels about his daughter. You’ll always be my little girl. You take people at face value, kitten, and you love too hard. Not everyone is worthy of your loyalty and trust.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “I know.” Her father sighed. “You’re like your mother. And where would I have been if she hadn’t seen through my macho bluster and male bravado and fallen in love with me in spite of it? I wouldn’t have all this.” He swept his hand at the gathered family and a nostalgic smile tilted his lips. “And I wouldn’t have you.” With the crook of his arm, he pulled her against him and kissed the top of her head. “Remember, no matter what happens, we’re here for you.”

  Elle’s chest tightened with love for her father. “Thanks, Daddy.”

  He smiled and stood up from the table. “I’m going after a beer. You want one?”

  She shook her head. She knew then that the vast affection of her family was what allowed her trust so easily and love so hard. They were her safety net.

  She thought of Dante and all that he missed by not having a loving family, and sadness crowded her heart. The need to take him in and nurture him was overwhelming, but she couldn’t take a grown man in as if he were some helpless fawn she’d found in the forest.

  She took another look at him standing off to one side, toweling the beer from his hair with his T-shirt, an unreadable expression on his face, his body language tight and aloof. This man was anything but helpless and she must resist the urge to take care of him.

  While they’d been playing softball, a dark cloud had blown in, cooling off the day and the wind picked up. A gust snatched a batch of paper napkins from the table and scattered them across the grass. Elle went to pick them up.

  The first drops of rain spattered the ground with fat wet plops. Within minutes the rain was coming down in sheets, sending everyone grabbing supplies and scurrying for the cars. From the looks of the black clouds bunching in the sky, the outdoor party was over.

  She knew most of her family would motor on over to her parents’ house to play cards or charades or dominoes and spend the evening munching on leftovers. Norma
lly she would have gone with them.

  But today wasn’t normal.

  Today her car was still parked at Pete Russell’s house.

  Today she was with Dante.

  Today Elle was different in a way she did not understand.

  Dante was at his motorcycle, starting it up, still bare-chested, his beer soaked T-shirt fed through his belt loop. “You should go with your family,” he said. “Get in out of the rain.”

  She should. It’s what a sensible person would do. It’s what she would normally do. But something inside of her didn’t feel sensible or normal. Stupid as it might seem, she wanted to take a risk, take a gamble, live a little.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said breathlessly, recklessly. It felt right. She threw a leg over the side of the bike, jammed the helmet down over her head as a rush of wind blew water from the leaves of the trees onto their shoulders.

  The slightest of grins lit up Dante’s eyes, but his mouth barely moved. He said nothing, just took her hands and latched them around his bare waist. Once he was sure she was secure, he took off.

  A laugh exploded unexpected from her lungs, the sensation of pure joy taking her utterly by surprise.

  And she’d thought the ride to the park had been thrilling!

  Nothing had prepared her for this. Riding through the rain, the warm engine vibrating up through the leather seat, her hands clutched against his naked abdomen slick with rain. It was the ultimate turn-on.

  Lightning flashed, sending a vivid fork of electricity through the cloud-filled sky. Thunder rumbled. Her heart was a racehorse galloping free across an open range. She relished being hooked up with this man. Elle couldn’t ever remember feeling so alive.

  Her nipples beaded hard. She tightened her grip around him, rested her head against his back, absorbing his body heat, reveling in the contact.

  By the time they reached her house, they were drenched. She told Dante to park his bike under her carport and they ran laughing into the house.

  When the door closed behind them, they turned to look at each other as they dripped soggily on the tile floor, and every thought went right out of Elle’s head except one: I have to have this man now.

  Dante must have had the identical thought because he moved toward her at the same moment she moved toward him.

  He pulled her to his chest.

  She flung her arms around his neck.

  The pulse at the hollow of his throat was jumping.

  Her heart was slamming against her rib cage.

  His lips came down on hers.

  She inhaled him, cupping both hands against the back of his head as hormones sent a rage of lust rushing through her blood.

  He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur her name and press her back against the refrigerator. His tongue flickered crazily across her lips.

  Immediately her body softened involuntarily in his arms and her teeth parted, letting him in.

  Their lips fit so perfectly together, snug as the right lid for the right pot, that Elle stopped trembling. She kept her eyes open because she wanted to see his face. His eyes were open, too. He was watching her intently, gauging her reaction, trying to figure what she was feeling. That alone was wildly arousing.

  Elle ached for him. Sure, she’d been around the block a time or two and she was over thirty years old, been married and divorced. She’d had a few lovers.

  But this kiss…It was ten times better than the one the night before and that had been pretty darn legendary.

  This was raw and hungry. Possessive. It was ominous and demanding.

  Naked need, passionate frustration, pure animal lust erupted from him into her and spun a magic web that went far beyond the mere joining of their lips. This single, wild union was everything.

  Everything.

  Dante fisted his hand tighter in her hair and pulled her even closer to him, penetrating her with his tongue, exploring her fully.

  She stopped thinking, stopped listening to her mental chattering. She stopped doing anything except allowing the moment to unfold. He was all that she’d ever envisioned in a lover and so much more. Tender yet decisive, and slow yet direct.

  He groaned low in his throat. His body strained and pushed against hers and Elle met him measure for measure, cupping his face in her palms, marveling at the feel of his thick, warm skin.

  His lips vibrated against hers and he breathed her name. “Elle.”

  She moaned quietly and he swallowed up the resonant hum of her.

  Her emotions flailed giddily. Excitement warred with guilt and passion and sadness and glee. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run.

  She could feel the powerful muscles of his forearm tense against the back of her neck as he splayed his fingers through the damp strands to drape them over her shoulders.

  He looked at her and his irises darkened with pleasure. Elle stared back, but unable to bear the tension, she looked away.

  His touch was uncomplicated but compelling.

  Furtively, she glanced at Dante. He was still staring at her.

  Incredulous.

  She felt a little incredulous herself. There was no mistaking the spark of sexual attraction on his face. Desire shadowed the hollows of his cheeks, giving him a lean and dangerous look.

  His eyes lowered in a heavy-lidded, totally masculine ogle. He wet his lips. Dante seemed quite turned on by the fact they were soaking wet in her kitchen.

  Elle held that indrawn breath, waiting, hoping, afraid to exhale. She could smell the rain on his skin and she wondered how many women before her had been this close to him. A lot, she was certain.

  But none of them, she decided, had ever really gotten to know him. She could feel it in him. A sixth sense. An instinct.

  Did she dare go there?

  His gaze was inscrutable, giving nothing away, but he was combing his fingers through her hair, lulling her, drawing her back under his spell.

  She had to find a way to distract him. If he kept touching her like that she was going to get naked with him, and as much as she wanted him, she was afraid to go there again.

  She wasn’t the only one totally blown away. Eddies of embarrassment and sexual hunger washed over her, warring with waves of boldness and timidity.

  “Dante…”

  What was she going to say? She reached out, not knowing what she intended to do, but getting caught up in the crazy push-pull battling inside her, yearning to touch his cheek.

  Dante raised an arm, blocking her hand, and latched his gaze onto hers. He was breathing hard and he did not speak. He didn’t have to speak. She could read the message in his eyes loud and clear.

  I want to take you to bed.

  The resulting thrill that raced through her body was so powerful she almost had an orgasm right there on the spot.

  If you go to bed with him now, it’s no longer a one-night stand. It’ll be a relationship. He’s starting to mean something to you.

  There it was. The thought they’d both been toying with in their heads for weeks. Wanting yet avoiding out of fear and uncertainty.

  She knew all the rational reasons why it was wrong. Why the relationship was doomed to fail. She was on the rebound from Mark. Dante was a secretive guy who didn’t know how to share his feelings. They were coworkers. He was Mark’s friend. They were all sensible arguments, but sometimes you had to take a leap of faith and follow your heart.

  And if you get hurt?

  Screw it. If she got hurt, she got hurt. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

  DANTE STOPPED KISSING her and drew back to look at Elle. He whispered her name. He felt scared all the way to his toes.

  He didn’t want to stop kissing her, but he couldn’t think rationally when his lips were on hers. The desire she stirred in him was at odds with his sworn duty. He’d always had a strong moral compass. A certain sense of right and wrong. But being undercover, being unsure of where he stood, of having to do things that went against his ethic
al code had placed him squarely at the center of an ambiguous crossroads.

  His assignment was to get close to her and gain her trust, but he couldn’t help feeling guilty and underhanded, especially now that he was growing more and more certain she did not know anything about Mark’s operation.

  Her wide-eyed vulnerability cut him to ribbons. All he wanted was to take her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay. He knew it was a dangerous impulse, stupid even, but there it was. His infernal need to rescue her.

  Dante’s gaze drifted lazily down along her chin to the hollow of her throat to her chest where he could see her nipples pebbled against her bra beneath her thin, wet cotton T-shirt.

  That’s when he forgot about all the reasons why he could not make love to Elle again.

  He held the rainstorm responsible for what happened next—it was too damned erotic. This was precisely why he didn’t normally do things like take beautiful women for rides on his bike during a spring shower. He’d held back his desires for so long, tamped down his passion, ignored his libido. But once let loose, his hormones could not be herded back inside where they belonged.

  The rain wasn’t wholly at fault, though. He also blamed the softball game and her loving family and the hot noonday sun that had caused him to take off his shirt in a daring striptease. He also held accountable the sweet tilt of Elle’s supple mouth and the seductive gleam in her delightful blue eyes, daring him, just daring him to do something naughty.

  Most of all, he blamed himself. He should never have put either of them in this position.

  She held out a hand to him and waited expectantly. He was trying to decide if he should go through with this or call Briggins up and insist he be taken off the case before he got in too deep.

  Too late.

  Elle zapped him with a meaningful stare and he felt as though he’d taken a stun gun jolt straight to his heart.

  Take that and that and that, her blue eyes said.

  She so stripped him to his soul and the next thing Dante knew, they were ripping off their clothes and stumbling for her bedroom, kissing and touching and stroking along the way.

  “This is a very dumb thing to do,” he murmured against her lips, needing to say the words even though he knew it was too late for either of them to stop. This moment had been a long time building. They’d crossed an invisible threshold and retreat was impossible.