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"Hey, coach. Whatcha doin' here?" The boy's gaze shot to Tessa, her tummy, then to Chase.
"Hi, Jason, got a game going?" Chase offered him a bottle of water.
The boy wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve, then drank. "Yeah, me and the guys thought we'd practice." Chase and Tessa exchanged a smile. "Wanna play? We could use a pitcher. Tommy ain't—isn't—" he corrected when Chase eyed him "—very good today. He wiped out on his bike at school."
Chase tossed the ball up and down, then shook his head. "No, thanks. Go for a long one." Chase drew his arm back.
Tessa stopped him. "Go play."
He shook his head.
"I can see it in your face, Coach Madison. You want to. I'm okay just watching."
He looked at Jason waiting for the throw, then to the boys coming off the diamond to see what delayed their all-important practice. "You sure you don't mind?"
She took the ball, rose up on her knees and threw. It went high and long, and Jason had to back-step to catch it.
Chase was stunned and his wide eyes said as much. "Nice arm, Lightfoot."
"Shortstop, two years running, city league," she said with a touch of smugness.
He leaned close and kissed her. "Just a few minutes," he whispered, then called, "Hey, guys, wait up."
Tessa sank onto the pillows and quilt as Chase walked onto the grassy field, rolling up his sleeves. It was clear they all knew him, and soon they were deep into hitting some great shots. He remained bent over, hands braced on his knees, clapping occasionally, and his deep voice carried to her. When one child smacked the ball out of the field, Chase whooped like a fan, tousling the boy's hair, his expression fatherly proud. The sight of him, so comfortable and happy, made her heart trip. He praised the boys for every good hit, for their form, and when he stepped in to offer advice, adjust a grip, he encouraged. He was too good to be true, she thought, full and suddenly tired.
An hour later, Chase stood over her, drinking water, absently waving to his team as they mounted bicycles and rode home for dinner. She looked contented as she slept, her black hair loose from the bow and spread across the pillow. Her position on her side made her skirt ride up, and he valiantly tossed a blanket over those incredible legs. He sat down beside her, near her feet, and watched her sleep.
The muscles around his heart clenched as their child moved inside her, yet she slept on.
Chase was in trouble. Deep, dangerous trouble. He'd known it the instant he heard her laugh for the first time, saw her eyes gloss with tears. She was strong and independent and it killed her to trust him, even for a moment. But she did. She kissed like magic and erupted like … like an earthquake. He'd never felt this way about a woman before, not even with Janis. The two women were so completely different, he wondered now what he'd ever seen in his ex-wife. Everything about Tessa attracted him—the way she tilted her head when she questioned him, the cute habit she had of biting her lower lip when she was nervous or indecisive. He wanted to know more, like what she looked like when he made love to her, the expression on her face when his body brought hers to the threshold of desire. What it felt like to be moving inside her.
He recalled the moments in the storeroom and, though he would have preferred more privacy, he couldn't forget how her skin felt beneath his mouth, his fingers. The scent of her lingered on him and he loved it. God, if she only knew how close he had been to opening his jeans and pushing into her. Silently, he commended himself on his restraint and wondered how long it would last. Loving Tessa was better than breathing.
She stirred, and he changed the direction of his thoughts before the whole park full of people saw him make a fool of himself. "Tessa?" he called softly.
She woke, yawning and stretching, then jolted upright, lightly slapping her leg. "Ow, ow! Cramp. Bad cramp!" she cried, her look imploring him for help.
He came to his knees, cradling her calf in his thighs and digging his thumbs into the tight muscle. The blanket slid away, but Tessa didn't care. All she wanted was the clenching to stop, and then it did.
"Thank you," she breathed, his fingers still manipulating the muscle. "Uh, Chase?" She lifted herself up on her elbows and met his gaze. "It stopped."
"I know."
"Then let go."
He didn't. Instead he sank to the quilt, drawing her legs over his, and kept massaging her calves, ankles and feet. "You don't stretch out enough when you do your walks."
So male, she thought. An answer for everything. "I'm pregnant is the cause. Cramps are common. I'm carrying extra weight, hormones, et cetera, et cetera," she waved, yet it felt good. Her circulation was always the pits when she first woke up. "How was the game?"
