Slow Heat
Page 33Not trusting her voice, Sam nodded. She let him check the entire ground floor. Nothing. She walked through the garden, eyeing each bench, and then walked through the pool area, just as Wade came out on the other side to do the same.
They saw John at the same time, on a pool lounge chair in a loud Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, a pretty woman on either side of him, all three sipping drinks, a bunch of empty glasses scattered around them.
Clearly, they’d been there awhile.
“We’re like this,” John was saying, holding up his free hand, his first two fingers twisted together. “Father and son. Tight as can be.”
“Can you get us Wade’s phone number?” one of the women asked.
“Sure,” John said, and seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, turned his head and met Sam’s gaze.
And then Wade stepped into view as well.
“Son,” John called. “Good to see you. Great game today.” He waved wildly. “Come join us.”
At the sight of Wade, the two girls leapt up and squealed with delight. Sam watched Wade wrestle a rare temper with his usual charm. The charm won, but it cost him. He wasn’t smiling as he signed autographs, or in this case, body parts. When they were gone, Wade looked at John coolly. “Where to now, Dad? Off to give some more women my phone number? To drink until you fall in the pool and drown? To act like an idiot half your age?”
“Would that bother you, son? Having me act like you?”
Wade stared at him, stunned. “What?”
“You don’t think I know anything about you, but I’ve read enough to know your ladies-man rep. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Wade, which means you’re acting like a hypocrite. So tell me. Are you pissed because I’m acting like an idiot? Or because you recognize that idiot and see yourself?”
Wade turned and shot a look at Sam, clearly not happy to have her listening to this. But she knew who he was, then and now, and yet before she could tell him so, he walked off.
“Sorry,” John said to Sam. “That wasn’t very kind of me.”
“He’s changed,” she said quietly. “He’s not the happy-go-lucky party boy you’re thinking of, not anymore. He’s changed, grown up . . .” She met his gaze. “And if you want him in your life, you’re going to have to do the same.”
He gestured to the empty glasses. “Virgin daiquiris. No alcohol.”
Sam looked into his clear eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell him that?”
“And ruin the fun he was having hating me?” He sighed. “I want him to believe in me on his own.”
“That might take a while. You’re going to have to be patient. And probably nicer.”
“I understand why you’d defend him. He’s so in love with you he can’t see straight.”
Her heart squeezed. “You’re wrong. He likes me. He . . .” Wants me. “It’s not what you think.”
John smiled knowingly, and a little sadly, “So you’re just as stubborn as he is.”
The Heat flew directly to Chicago. Wade walked into his hotel room, wishing he was alone, but unfortunately, he was followed by his father.
“How many times am I going to have to say I’m sorry for last night?” John asked.
“Zero.” Wade ran a hand down his face. Sam had told him what she and his father had talked about last night, and the fact that John hadn’t been drinking. “You should have told me yourself.”
“I wanted you to see it. But I guess it was too soon. I shouldn’t have baited you.” John sat on Wade’s bed and picked up the remote, flicking through the channels.
Wade sighed. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a diversion from the Jack Daniel’s I smuggled from the flight attendant. I thought maybe a porno channel would do it.”
“No porn. Jesus, just what I need is for it to get out that I charged p**n to my room.”
“Maybe it’ll get you another month with Sam.”
“I’ve pickled my liver, not my brain.”
Wade shook his head and held out his hand.
“What?”
“The Jack.”
John raised a brow.
“Give me the f**king Jack Daniel’s, Dad.”
John pulled it from his bag. Wade snatched it and despite wanting to down it himself, dumped it down the bathroom sink.
“I have quit, Wade. I just . . . sometimes it’s hard. I need you.”
“What makes you think I have any help to give? Christ, Dad, you’d be so much better off in rehab.”
“I don’t want to be babied, or pitied. And dammit, I don’t want to die alone.”
“You’re not going to die, you’re too stubborn.”
John smiled grimly. “True enough. Look, it’s just that I figured you were the only one in the world who’d be fresh out of pity for me. You’re just what I need.”
Wade sighed. “You’re right about the lack of pity.”
“So we going to do this?”
Wade looked at him for a long moment, knowing in spite of himself there was no other choice he could really live with. “If it’ll get me my remote back.”
At the gate before the Cub’s game, they were handing out stick-on tattoos of the player’s numbers. Tag grabbed a handful of Wade’s and plastered them all over himself. For fun, he also put one on Sam’s shoulder, and she had no idea what it said about her that she liked being branded with Wade’s number.
They were in the stands when Sam’s cell vibrated, and she answered without looking at the ID. “McNead.”
“I’m out.”
Jeremy. Her stomach dropped. Her gaze slid to Tag as her throat tightened at the thought of giving him up. “After only one month?”
“Yeah. It . . . wasn’t for me.”
Oh, God. She couldn’t let him take Tag back to his world. Wouldn’t. She stood up, gestured to Holly to watch Tag, and moved out of earshot. “What do you mean, it wasn’t for you? You have a kid to think about, you have to get better.”
“Yeah. Listen, Sam, I’m sort of on my way to Amsterdam to meet up with Lynn.”
She blinked. “Lynn as in the woman who destroyed you about ten years ago? Lynn as in Tag’s mom?”
“She called me out of the blue, wants to work things out—”
“Wait a minute. Exactly how long have you been out of rehab?”
“Few days.”
“Days?” And he hadn’t called Tag. Bastard.
“Okay, a week. You—”
“I thought you two were long over.”
“You can’t go back to her,” Sam said. “She’s not good to Tag. She—”
“I know. She’s . . . too young to be a mom.”
Sam was thinking Lynn was too mean and selfish to be a mom, but it didn’t matter. No way was she letting Tag go back to Jeremy with Lynn in the picture. In fact, if Jeremy asked her to bring Tag to Amsterdam, where they’d expose him to God knew what, Sam was going to have to kill him, strangle him with her bare hands. “You know what, Jeremy? You don’t really have a lot of choices here. You have a child. You need to live your life for him, not you. Do you even have any idea at all what this is doing to Tag? What it will do to him?”
“I was thinking that maybe you could hold on to him for a while longer.”
“Yes,” Sam said so quickly her head spun. “Yes, I’ll hold on to him. Frankly, I’ll hold on to him forever, you son of a bitch. In fact, my lawyer will be calling yours to see if we can’t work that very thing out.”
“Jesus, Sam.” He paused, then spoke very quietly. “But thank you.”
She held her tongue with great effort, because it would only hurt Tag to alienate him. “Do you want to talk to him?”
“Who?”
Sam opened her mouth but then simply shut her phone. “Whoops, bad connection,” she said, and went back to her seat and hugged Tag hard.
He only made one fake strangling noise, then let her continue to hold him for a minute, even setting his head on her shoulder before he squirmed. She released him and messed up his already messy hair. “Tag?”
“Yeah?”
“How would you feel about staying here with me even after your dad is done in rehab?”
He slid only his eyes toward her. “My mom still in Europe, huh?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m asking.”
“Why are you asking?”
“Because I like having you around. A lot.”
He was silent, and she shifted to catch his line of vision. “I was hoping you feel the same,” she said.
He looked at her, then nodded.
“So it’s okay with you? If you continue to stay with me?”
“Can I stop using soap?” he asked.
“No.”
“Can I have Frosted Flakes each morning for breakfast?”
“No, but I’ll keep ice cream in the freezer for dessert.”
“And Cheez Doodles.”
“Always.”
“Cool.” And he smiled.
Her heart swelled in her chest until her ribs nearly burst. “I love you, Tag,” she whispered, and kissed his cheek.
“Jeez!”
She laughed. “We have to run to the clubhouse at the first media break. I’m giving a quick clip to some foreign reporters today.”
Progress. He was asking. “No,” she said gently. “I want to watch your intake. The last time I didn’t, you liberated Santos’s tobacco, ate too much, and puked up everything but the kitchen sink.”
“Aw.” But he dropped it. And on the walk to the clubhouse at the media break, he tugged on her hand. “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s more than okay. Being with you.” He grimaced when she grinned and hugged him again.
The game went late. At eleven that night they were tied and heading into extra innings. Sam sent Tag to the hotel room with Gage’s assistant, and he was crashed out cold in his room when she staggered in two hours later at one in the morning after a tight win.
Two seconds later, there was a soft knock at her suite door. She opened it to Wade. “Congratulations on the win,” she said. “Nice homer in the fourth. And eighth.” She smiled. “And tenth.”
“Thanks.”
She leaned against the doorjamb and looked him over. He wore jeans and a slightly oversized button-down, untucked, looking like his usual million bucks. But unlike always, his expression was actually open, and just a little vulnerable, which she found devastatingly charming. “You hurting?”
He shook his head.
“You upset with your dad?”
“Yeah, but that’s more a way of life.”
“Then what?”
He put his hands on her h*ps and nudged her into the room so he could shut the door. Pulling her in close, his voice dropped to a soft murmur against her ear. “Maybe I just want to be with you.”
Her heart caught. “No reason?”
“Lots of reasons. Many, many reasons.” His hands swept up her body and made it quiver. “Where’s Tag?”
“Asleep in his room.” And damn, but she wrapped herself around him like she hadn’t seen him in months. “I was about to shower.”
“Yeah?” He guided her into the bathroom, reaching behind him to lock the door. “Don’t let me stop you.”
She flipped on the hot water. He stripped. Apparently he was joining her. When he was gloriously na**d, he divested her of her clothing as well, stopping to stare in surprise at his number tattooed on her shoulder.
“I know,” she said, embarrassed. “It’s so middle school, but—”
He dropped his head and kissed it, backing the words up in her throat as he continued with the kisses to her breast. “I like it. You’re branded as mine.”
At the mine, her belly quivered. “Tag’s just in the next room,” she whispered.
“The kid sleeps like the dead, I’ve seen him.” He ran his tongue over her nipple, and at her throaty gasp, looked up. “But to be safe, you’ll have to try to keep the ‘harder, Wade, harder’ down to a minimum.”
“I don’t—”
He grinned against her breast and she closed her eyes. She did, God she did. There was no doubt he brought out her wild side.
He made his way to her other breast and ran a finger along her bikini line. “My name or number right here would be nice . . .” He slid a hand between her legs. She sucked in a breath as he dropped to his knees.
“Shh,” he reminded her softly, then pressed her back against the sink and put his mouth on her. He drove her straight off the edge—and even had to reach up and cover her mouth with his hand at the end when she cried out and shuddered.
Rocked off her axis, she slid bonelessly toward the floor, but he caught her in his arms and stepped into the shower with her, then pressed her against the wall and slid into her with one flex of his hips.
Then it was his turn to let out the low, husky gasp, and hers to cover his mouth.
And this time, when Sam came back to herself, she burrowed into the man who held her, feeling something new, something catch deep inside of her. She’d tried it his way. She’d given the light and easy thing her very best shot, but she’d passed light and easy a long time ago. She’d fallen completely, head-over-heels in love with Wade.