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"I thought you'd go celebrate." She waved to the dozen eight-year-old boys ribbing each other over their victory.
"Not till the championship. And that's only if they work hard," he said, loudly enough to get their attention. The boys looked up at him as if he were a god, waiting. "Now, that was giving one hundred percent, guys." A collective grin spread through the group. "I'm proud of you. Now go." He inclined his head and they took off.
Parents passed him, herding their children toward the cars as Chase slung the long sack over his shoulder and accepted congratulations, dumping all the praise back on their kids. When she tried to slip away, he caught her, slinging his arm over her shoulder. He introduced her to the parents as they walked to their cars, ignoring their curious stares, keeping the conversation light. Tessa realized that Chase Madison wasn't offering anyone a piece of his private life.
And she loved him for it.
He stowed his gear, searching the lot for her Jeep. "I walked."
He blinked. "That's got to be five miles."
"Four and six-tenths. Give me a lift back?" He grinned, and she cupped his jaw, giving it a shake. "You are so readable, Chase Madison."
He covered her hand with his, puckering his lips. "Read this?"
She kissed him, then opened his car door and climbed in. "I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry."
"Don't you think you should feed me?"
His piercing gaze caressed her hotly. "I want to do more than feed you, woman," he murmured in a husky voice.
"Chase!"
"Yes," he said innocently.
"That was … ah—?"
"True." He shut the door and within minutes they were heading down the street toward his house. He needed a shower, and though she liked a little sweat on a man, dripping with it was a bit much. She wanted to see his place anyway and was surprised by the modest Cape Cod.
"Before you ask, no, I didn't build it. Janis owned it."
Bitterness weighed his tone, and, once inside, she asked about it.
"I was trying to sell it when I found out about the baby. I decided to hold on to it, rent it maybe."
"That's not what I meant. You have a lot of hate inside you for her."
Chase removed his cleats and crossed the living room, not answering. Finally he dropped the shoes into a wooden box inside the hall closet and shut the door.
"Tessa, I have something to tell you, and, well—"
Her heart jumped to her throat and stayed there. "Just say it, Chase."
"Janis was the administrator of the fertility clinic."
"I know."
He looked at her, his brows high.
"Dia mentioned it. And yes, I thought that she had a hand in the mix-up, but what does it matter now? Blaming her or blaming anyone doesn't change this." She patted her tummy.
"I hate to think she did it to you just to get back at me. She knew how much I wanted to be a dad."
She spoke as she crossed to him. "If she did, it backfired." He met her gaze and she thought he looked a little lost right now. Brushing damp hair off his forehead, she whispered. "You are going to be a dad, Chase."
His gaze swept her face and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her gently against him. "I want to be more than that, Tessa." Before she could respond, he kissed her, so thick and heavy she felt her knees soften and her body spring to life. Then he released her and went down the hall, stripping off his shirt. She fell back against the wall and signed, and a moment later heard the shower running.
She closed her eyes, her mind conjuring the image of him stripping down to his skin, stepping beneath the spray, lathering that fantastic body, and before she went into his room to see the sight for real, she turned back down the hall.
A little imagination was a dangerous thing, she thought. She strolled through the house, noting paraphernalia from his time in the Marines, trophies, photos of his family.
Something struck her odd about a woman she thought was his mother, but she couldn't place it.
Stacks of baby books and parenting magazines littered the coffee table. A page was marked in one and she flipped it open, her body doing strange things at the illustration of a man making love to a pregnant woman. Even as she thought of doing that with him, it scared her, made her face burn with embarrassment. She knew he was only thinking of her. It was a shocking thought—how much one man could care—and she wondered about his faults, the temper he claimed was ferocious. She didn't want to see it.
She closed the book and glanced around the living room. The furniture was classic, modular, his collection of audio and video electronic equipment astounding. And he was right about his taste in movies, she thought, running her fingers along the videotape spines. He liked the blood-and-guts sort of stuff. Yuck. It was a rather impersonal place, serviceable, but a man's home, lacking in anything soft or frivolous. It was as if he'd stripped his ex-wife from the interior. Even in the kitchen.
