Out Of Her League (2 page)

When Teryl's curvy figure appeared around the corner, Christa felt better already. “Hey! To what do we owe this honor?” Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and she was wearing sweats— a sure sign she'd just hopped out of the bath.

“I thought I'd stop in and say hello,” Christa said evasively. “Hope I didn't interrupt anything.”

“Of course not, don't be silly. Come on in. Drew and Hutch were just going over the plans for our new deck.”

Christa halted in mid-stride, her heart tripping at the second name. “Rayne's here?” Rayne Hutchinson, the cop with the gorgeous face and rock-hard body, star of her romantic fantasies. God, maybe this visit wasn't such a good idea.

Teryl eyed her in amusement, leading the way through the kitchen toward the family room. “Yeah. His car's in the shop so Drew picked him up at the station after work. Why? That a problem for you?”

“No.” A swarm of butterflies fluttered around in her belly. On a drool scale of one to ten Rayne was easily a twelve, and here she was straight from the ballpark in her uniform and tracksuit. She felt like the high school geek pining over the star quarterback. And apparently she wasn't even all that bright a geek either, because his being out of reach hadn't stopped her from having an agonizing crush on him ever since she had first met him through Teryl and Drew a couple years ago.

She glanced down at herself, dismayed. Somehow, whenever she saw him she was always covered in dirt from her work as a landscaper or from softball. He probably expected it by now.

“C'mon,” Teryl coaxed, holding out a hand and pulling Christa after her into the family room.

Rayne's dark head was bent over the coffee table next to Teryl's husband Drew, his strong hands cradling a beer bottle as they pored over some sketches. She mentally cringed at her grubbiness.

“Hey, look who I found,” Teryl announced.

The two men glanced up at her, the impact of Rayne's hazel gaze slamming into her like a sixty-mile-an-hour fastball. The air seemed to hum with his masculine energy, and that intimidated the hell out of her. On the ball diamond she could stare down any pitcher without a qualm, block any throw or pitch you could shell out and throw harder than a lot of men she knew. She could cook pretty much anything, turn a patch of weeds into a gorgeous flowerbed, fix a leaky pipe and rewire her light fixtures— but put an attractive man in front of her and she was all jittery nerves and tongue-tied awkwardness. She had her last relationship to thank for that.

“Hi guys. Big plans?”
You moron. He'll think you're retarded, using monosyllabic words like that
. She couldn't help lifting a hand to restrain a lock of hair that had escaped her long chestnut braid.

Drew waved her over. “Hey, sweet stuff. It won't be anything as fancy as your porch, but it'll have to do.”

“The deck I showed you in that magazine layout,” Teryl put in. “The boys are finally going to build it for me.”

Rayne settled back against the sofa, the smooth fabric of his shirt stretched taut by the muscles underneath. “So, who won the game?” he asked, his eyes raking over her disheveled form.

“We did.” She fought the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. At least his gaze didn't scare her like her disturbing fan's did.

“She's going to make the national team this season,” Teryl announced proudly, beaming at her. “They're already down to their last few cuts, and she's a shoe in.”

Hardly. And if she allowed that voice behind home plate to keep distracting her, she wouldn't make the squad at all. “Not that you're biased or anything.”

“Tough game, was it?” Rayne asked.

Oh, boy. She
did
look awful. “Um, yeah, tonight was a real workout.”

Teryl motioned upstairs. “Why don't you grab a quick shower?”

“That'd be great.” At least then she'd feel more confident about being in the same room with Rayne.

But in the guest bath, Teryl shut the door behind them and pinned her with narrowed eyes. “All right,” she demanded, hands on hips. “How come you came over tonight?”

Christa sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Honey, I'm your best friend. After twenty-two years, you don't think I can tell when something's wrong? So come on, spill it.”

“That guy was there again tonight,” she said simply.

“The Stalker?” The name she and Teryl had laughingly given the guy didn't seem so funny anymore.

“Yeah, only this time he followed me out to my truck to introduce himself. His name's Seth.” As she spoke, Teryl's brows drew together. “Then he stood there staring at me while I loaded my stuff, and told me to be careful because ‘most accidents happen at night when you're close to home'.”

“That's creepy, Chris. Have you told the coaches about him?”

“Not yet, but I will. And from now on I'll never leave the park on my own.”

Teryl made a huffing noise. “Is that why you came over? Were you afraid he was going to follow you home or something?”

“He didn't. I checked to make sure I wasn't being followed on my way here.” Christa moved her hands apart in a helpless gesture. “I'm probably being paranoid, I know, but something about him scares me. Almost like I can sense... I don't know, evil in him.” She smiled ruefully. “See what having an overactive imagination does for you?”

“Rayne would tell you that's not always a bad thing.” She reached into a cupboard and pulled out some towels. “Want me to say something to him?”

“No, thanks. I don't want to make a big deal out of it. I just wish the guy would leave me alone.”

“Well, be careful then, okay? The guy sounds like he's a few bricks short of a load.” She offered a friendly pat on the back. “Go ahead and clean up and we'll see you downstairs.”

When she had gone, Christa confronted her image in the mirror above the sink and winced. No wonder Rayne had looked like he was trying not to smile when he'd first seen her. Dirt had streaked all over her face, the catcher's mask trapping it in sweat lines along her jaw. Her braid was barely intact, and during the game she had somehow developed wings that stuck straight out from her temples, apparently eager to assist in an emergency landing. She glanced at the back of her head to see if maybe a rudder flap had appeared too. Nope— just a couple of sweaty, tangled ringlets at the nape of her neck. She showered and toweled off, then dressed in the clothes Teryl had left outside the door. She had no make-up with her but pulled her hair into a ponytail before heading down to the family room.

The sight of Rayne's tall, broad-shouldered frame sitting there on the couch caused her heart to skip a beat, and she chided herself. Even if he were interested in dating her, she had a list of specific reasons why she didn't want a man in her life. One: she was too busy with work and her softball career. Two: Rayne had a reputation that would make Casanova seem like a choirboy. Three: no way did she ever want her heart broken again. She couldn't survive that kind of pain a second time.

Keeping this firmly in mind, she chose a seat on the other side of the coffee table and tried to pretend his smile didn't make her insides do somersaults. She glanced down at the deck plans spread across the table. “So, when will you guys start?”

“Next week, if I can get all the stuff together,” Drew said. She loved Drew dearly and was so glad Teryl had married him. He was funny, supportive, and most importantly, not afraid to stand up to Teryl's infamous temper. “Just think of all the flowers you can put in the planter boxes.”

“Now you're talking. So long as you promise not to kill them, Teryl.”

Teryl narrowed her eyes. “Maybe you should plant artificial ones, then.”

“They've been telling me about the gardens at your place,” Rayne interjected, the lamplight highlighting the green and gold in his darkly lashed eyes. “I'd love to see the house sometime.”

“Anytime,” she told him, intending friendly politeness rather than eagerness. “It might even remind you a little bit of Charleston,” she pronounced it “Chahlston", “so you'll feel right at home.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you making fun of my accent?”

“Not at all. You know I love your accent. It reminds me of when I used to answer the phone in my stepfather's office. Michael's an American history professor, remember? He teaches mostly about the Civil War.”

“You mean the war of northern aggression,” he corrected softly, lips curving.

“Ah... okay.”

“It's a very important distinction,” he assured her.

She held up a hand in acknowledgement. “Duly noted.”

Drew pushed to his feet and stretched. “Well, this has been a fascinating history lesson, but you said you're on early shift so I'd better take you home, Hutch.”

“Sure.” Rayne rose from the couch.

“I can take you home,” Christa blurted. The others gawked at her. “I'm heading home anyway, so I can drop you off on my way. If you're okay with it,” she added, hoping her face wasn't flaming.

“That'd be great,” Rayne said.

She faced Drew. “There's no sense in you going out when I can easily drive right past there.”

“Hey, you don't have to talk me into it.” He regarded Rayne with an arched brow. “We can trust you to behave yourself with Christa, right?”

Rayne winked at her, sending her pulse skyrocketing. “Maybe.”

“Ha-ha,” Teryl said, sending him an arctic glare. “He wouldn't dare try anything because he knows I'd rip his legs off.”

Christa laughed. “I love it when you get all protective of me. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“Damn right I'm protective of you.” Teryl had a habit of referring to Christa's ex as ‘The Shithead', which was true enough, but what would happen if she ever found another boyfriend? Teryl would scare him away before he'd had a chance.

“You should never dare me, darlin',” Rayne murmured, eyes full of mischief.

Christa's eyebrows shot upward. The idea of Rayne coming on to her was ludicrous. She was no more his type than he was hers. So macho and good-looking, a known ladies’ man— not exactly what she was looking for. Men like that were trouble, and getting involved with one would guarantee heartbreak. She would be worse than stupid to pursue anything, even if by some miracle he did show an interest in her.

“Well,
I
would never dare you,” she assured him, and gathered up the bag holding her dirty uniform. “You ready to leave?”

“Sure.”

At the door Teryl leaned up and kissed Rayne's cheek, then rubbed away the lipstick mark. “Okay, go off and save the world for us tomorrow. But don't shoot anyone unless you have to.”

“I'll try and restrain myself,” he said, and let Christa precede him outside. The cool night air was damp and smelled of freshly cut grass, stars twinkling overhead. He followed her to her truck and opened her door for her.

“Oh, thanks,” she said and scrambled up into the cab.

“You're welcome.” He even closed her door before rounding the hood and climbing in himself, the truck suddenly seeming small with him in it. Well over six feet tall, broad through the chest and shoulders with no fat on him, he made her feel petite and fragile, and with a five-eight medium build, that was saying something.

He dominated whatever space he occupied, his air of confidence so absolute she'd once mistaken it for arrogance. Now she understood it was merely part of his personality. He was a natural leader, an alpha male loaded with charisma and sex appeal. As the notches on his bedpost no doubt proved.

She started the ignition and pulled out of the driveway. “You live down by the beach, right?” No sense tipping him off that she'd committed every detail she knew about him to memory. Kind of obsessed, like her stalker, but way less scary. And more pathetic.

As she thought of her fan her eyes scanned the street, but nothing suspicious caught her attention.

“Just down from the pier, on Marine Drive.”

“You must have an incredible view.”

“It's pretty tough to take, all right.” He swiveled his head to study her, and as she bore his scrutiny her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Where's your place? We've known each other a while, so how come you've never invited me over?”

“Huh?” She shot him a glance. That had come so far out of left field she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. “I didn't know you
wanted
to be invited over.”

“Well, all I ever hear is Drew and Teryl raving about your cooking, your yard and your house, and you've never once asked me over with them.”

She didn't know quite how to respond to that. “Well, it wasn't on purpose, I swear. I promise, next time I'll invite you too. Deal?”

“Deal.”

As he settled back into the seat with a creak of his leather jacket, she caught the tangy scent of his citrusy cologne. It was cruel for a man to be so beautiful and smell that good. She had to fight the urge to lean over and breathe him in. Instead, she checked the rearview mirror to make sure no one was following her. As awesome a distraction as Rayne was, she couldn't forget about that weird encounter at the park.

Through the open window, the salt of the ocean teased her nostrils, the lone cry of a seagull blending with the background music of the radio. In the distance the shadowy forms of the San Juan and Gulf Islands rose out of the Strait of Georgia, the lights of Semiahmoo Resort winking across the water. Moonlight shimmered silver across the bay, silhouetting the gentle contours of the shore and isolating tidal pools on the exposed sand, their crescents glimmering like a scalloped lace hem stretching the length of the beach. On Marine Drive they headed east, past the people strolling along the promenade and the illuminated pier jutting into the dark tide, past the gift shops, restaurants and ice cream parlors, the trees lit year-round by delicate strands of lights.

Maybe she was too wound up about this whole stalker thing, she thought as she checked the mirror again. If he hadn't followed her to Teryl's, and he wasn't following her now, then chances were—

“Something wrong?”

She cast a startled glance at Rayne, then focused back on the road. “No, why?”

“You seem distracted, and you keep looking in your mirror like you expect to find someone behind us.”