Go Away, Darling - Alexis Anne Page 0,17

in wonder. “It really makes you wonder if anyone can beat him.”

“No,” the first announcer said flatly, “I don’t think anyone can. The question I have is...what magic will he pull off in the playoffs? I can’t wait to watch him.”

Chris threw another strike. Cool. Focused. His jaw ticking like he was chewing gum maybe? It was sexy and I couldn’t stop thinking about how different he was in my kitchen just a week ago. Smiling, casual, chatting with Linc like he had nothing better to do.

So different from the strike throwing machine on my television. He struck the batter out and took a lap around the mound shouting something to himself the cameras couldn’t pick up, but I was pretty sure it was full of swear words and smack talk.

I found myself wondering what it was like to touch Chris Kaine. To soothe away his stress and make him smile. Our one hug had been a surprise, but I remembered all of it. He smelled like saltwater and sunscreen. My head fit against his shoulder just right. His hands large on my back. His body hard and muscular. That multimillion dollar arm that might win a championship had been wrapped around me.

A very strange thing happened inside me when I thought about that. A heady, lusty, possessive fog filled my mind and body. After Beau, I swore I’d never date another athlete. They were too full of themselves. Too addicted to the spotlight and celebrity lifestyle. I didn’t need or want to date a champion.

I wanted my quiet island life watching my kid grow up. Was it simple? Yes. It was also stress free and happy.

And yet here I was coveting an athlete. Getting, if I’m being honest with myself, a little turned on by his focus and passion, not to mention that killer arm. And unlike Beau, he wanted to live on our little island. He called it home. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part, but I wanted to believe Chris and Beau were two entirely different people.

I stared at my computer screen not getting much done on my project because my brain seemed to only want to focus on one thing today. It had been a week and Chris was supposed to be back.

But would he return?

He certainly didn’t have to if things changed. There was no contract between us. Heck, I didn’t even have his phone number. He could just as easily decide to stay in Tampa and relax with his friends.

A message dinged into my inbox and I forced myself to think about work again. I got up extra early during the week to get most of my email and editing work done before Linc got moving. Outdoor photo shoots took place at different times of day depending on the project and I scheduled those around Linc’s routine and, soon, school days. Otherwise they took place here in my studio. My parent’s old art studio was now my state of the art photography studio and lab. It had great lighting and opened up to our yard, which also served as an easy outdoor studio.

The bulk of my work was celebrity portraits. I carved out a niche here on the island. So many politicians and celebrities had homes here that it was a natural but strange specialty to develop. I became semi-famous for the unique way I captured people with their most beloved possessions. The island served as a gorgeous permanent backdrop. I had the final portrait printed in large scale as a work of art that hung in the owner’s homes. Sometimes the work was exciting, sometimes it was monotonous. I knew in the back of my mind that I was stifling my creativity by focusing only on the money, but I didn’t focus on that too often.

I scanned the new email and found it was from London Anderson asking for a quick edit to a photo she’d sent me last week from her trip to Monaco. Instead of replying to the email, I picked up my phone and called.

“Good morning sunshine!” she sang into the phone. “It is morning there, right?”

I laughed. “It is. And where are you?”

“Paris. I’m currently munching on cheese and sipping wine.”

“You have the worst work environment.”

Then she sighed heavily. “Yeah. About that. I think I’ll be back pretty soon. My grandmother isn’t doing well.”

“Oh London, I’m so sorry.” I compulsively clicked on the file for the local history project I was part of and opened the images