Can't Stand the Heat (12 page)

“To be honest, I was wondering if I was going to be able to pull it off. I'm not that good of an actor.”

A hint of a smile finally crept to her lips. “You're better than you think. You definitely had me convinced. I thought you had really rude dinner guests who didn't bother to call to say they'd be late. And the way you were behaving, I just knew you weren't attracted to me.”

“You really thought I wasn't attracted to you?”

“Oh, yeah! Every now and then, I would pick up on something, but I thought I was just reading you wrong.”

“Really? So you didn't pick up that all night I've wanted to do this?”

Lauren didn't have a chance to respond before he cupped her face and lowered his mouth to hers. Her eyes widened in surprise as his warm lips pressed firmly against her own. She breathed in audibly, opening her mouth, and when she felt his tongue slip between her teeth, her eyes lowered. Her heart began to thud in her chest. She kissed him back tentatively, and before she knew it, her tongue was dancing with his. She let out a soft moan.

This was what she wanted. This was what she had been fantasizing about and trying to deny herself.

Cris released her face only to wrap his strong arms around her waist. She could feel herself being hoisted from the floor. Her feet dangled in the air and she wrapped her hands around his neck, holding on for dear life. She felt a warm stirring in the pit of her stomach that started to radiate across her entire body. It then concentrated between her legs and began to vibrate. She had never felt this way before, especially not with James, who made sex seem more like an obligation or a chore than an expression of passion and desire.

When she felt Cris's hands leave her waist and cup her bottom, a hardened mound pressed against her hip—an obvious sign of his arousal. Instinctively, she started to move against it, teasing it with her thigh, kneading it with her groin.

“Slow this down, Lauren,” a voice said in her head. “Slow this down quick or you two are going to end up on top of that kitchen island behind you.”

With a lot of effort, she wrenched her mouth away. When she opened her eyes, she saw that they were both breathing hard.

“I think we should stop,” she whispered breathlessly. Cris paused, like he was debating with himself, then nodded in agreement. He lowered her to the floor. She brushed her hair out of her eyes. He cleared his throat. They gazed at one another, now unsure what to say. She stared longingly at his lips and caught herself. She looked away.

If I don't get out of here soon, we're going to end up kissing again,
she thought.
And I'm not prepared for what might happen after that.

“So you said you didn't need me to clean up?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Uh, yeah, I can take care of it.”

“OK,” she said quickly as she reached for her satchel. “Well, I guess I'll head out now.”

“Yeah . . .” She gathered her knife kit. “I mean, if you don't need me to stay.”

“Uh.” He watched as she zipped around the kitchen grabbing her things. “I guess I don't.”

“OK, well, see you around,” she said with a wave. She almost ran to the kitchen exit.

“Lauren?” Cris called after her.

She stopped in her tracks and snapped her head around to face him.

“Yeah,” she almost squeaked.

“Are you free next Sunday? I could come and pick you up at, say . . . two o'clock.”

“Say ‘no,' Lauren,” a voice in her head urged. “Do you remember what it was like to kiss that guy? If you go out with him, it's over. No more focusing on you. No more ‘Lauren improvement project.' You're going to fall for him and you're going to get sidetracked. Say ‘no'!”

“O-o-OK,” she heard herself stammer despite the warning, making Cris smile.

C
ris entered the farmer's market, whistling an upbeat tune. He was going on a date with Lauren that afternoon. Moving to Chesterton no longer felt like self-imposed exile. He wasn't in the NFL anymore, but at least he still had other things to look forward to: a new home, a new woman, and a new life.

He grabbed a wooden basket and decided to head to the fresh produce aisle. He wanted to pick up a few things for today's date. He couldn't compete with Lauren when it came to cooking, and he didn't plan to try, but he wanted to pack a picnic basket for the hot-air balloon ride he had planned for later. With a woman of discerning taste like Lauren's, he knew he had to pack high-end stuff. He wanted to buy some strawberries, grapes, figs, and artisanal cheeses that would go perfectly with a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon.

Cris smiled. He could see them now, sitting on a hilltop in rural Virginia, looking at the vibrant colors of the sunset over the horizon. In honor of the Fourth of July weekend, he had even arranged for a private fireworks display when it grew dark. Maybe the night would end with a repeat of the warm kiss they had shared the last time he saw her.

Maybe if you're lucky it'll go a little farther than that, my friend
, he thought to himself.

But he wasn't going to rush things. She obviously liked to take her time.

He knew his plans for today were teetering on over the top, but he really wanted to go all out for her. She seemed sweet but so withdrawn. He wanted to push her out of her shell with a good time and a memorable evening.

Cris glanced at the sign over the organically grown strawberries before grabbing two cartons. He tossed them into his basket. He did the same when he reached the Emperor grapes and then continued to stroll. As he drew near the glass display case filled with cheeses, he leaned down to examine them more closely. Suddenly, he felt a hard shove. He turned in surprise to find a woman in a red wrap dress kneeling on the ground, frantically gathering vegetables and fruits that had tumbled from her basket to the hardwood floors when she bumped into him.

“Oh!” she exclaimed with embarrassment as she shoved her cell phone into what looked like a very expensive handbag. She reached for a rolling nectarine, then looked up at Cris. “Why didn't I look where I was going? I am so sorry!
So
sorry! Really, I am.”

Cris quickly dropped to one knee to help her. She looked up again at him before giving a loud sigh that ruffled the bangs that had fallen into her face. “Thank you
so
much!”

“No problem. Don't worry about it.” He handed her a bag of apples that had tumbled near the cheese counter.

She was a beautiful woman, light-skinned with a trim figure. Her eyes were a warm hazel and framed with long, dark lashes, and her honey-brown locks cascaded over her slender shoulders and into one of her eyes. When they had gathered all of her spilled groceries and they had both slowly climbed to their feet, Cris got the nagging feeling that something about her seemed vaguely familiar. He just couldn't pin where and when he had met her before.

“I didn't knock anything out of your basket, did I?” she asked with a grin as she brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “I'm so scatterbrained sometimes. I was talking on my cell phone and not paying attention and
boom!
I run into you.”

“No, I'm fine. I've taken worse hits.”

“Worse hits?” She pointed her index finger at him. “Hey, don't I know you from somewhere? Aren't you . . . aren't you . . . a basketball . . . no! A
football
player?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore. I retired from the NFL last year.”

“Because of your injury. Right! I thought I knew you!” She snapped her fingers. “You're Cris Weaver, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I can't believe it! I ran into the wide receiver for the Dallas Cowboys.” She leaned toward him and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You know, most of the people around here are Redskins fans, but personally, I've
always
preferred the Cowboys. Don't tell anyone I said that, though.” She laughed affably and patted his shoulder.

“Don't worry, I won't.”

Cris noticed that the V-neck of her dress had dropped several inches lower. It looked like her wrap dress had inadvertently come open as she knelt on the floor. She was revealing a great deal of cleavage. The top of her leopard-print bra was showing.

“Well,” she said as she looked him up and down, “you might be retired, but you don't look like you've gained an ounce of fat since you were on the field. I guess you still work out, huh?”

“I try to.”

“Oh, and it
shows.
It shows, honey!” She giggled. “So what brings you to Chesterton, Cris?”

“I guess I just needed a change of pace.”

“A change of pace? I can understand that!” She patted his shoulder conspiratorially. This time her hand lingered on his arm. “Chesterton has its good side, but it's
nothing
like a big city like Dallas. Compared to Dallas, it's as slow as molasses.” She looked him up and down again, gave a wink, and licked her ruby lips. She leaned in closer. “But we definitely have things here that you can't find in Texas.”

I'm sure you do,
Cris thought sardonically.

His old spider senses were tingling. This woman was nice but
too
nice. She was talking a lot and touching him even more, and he was starting to suspect that it wasn't because she was just an outgoing person who didn't have a good sense of personal space.

This woman with the perfect smile and abundant boobs was probably a groupie. He couldn't say that for sure, but something told him his suspicions were right.

“I should know,” she continued, unaware of his growing doubts about her. “I work in historic preservation. In fact”—she began to rifle through her purse. She pulled out her business card—“I can give you a tour of the town if you'd like. We were founded in 1698, so there are plenty of historic sites around here that even a few of the locals don't know about. We're renovating one of the colonial mansions. We're not opening to the public for another month or two, but I can get you in for a private tour. Give me a call if you're interested. I'd
love
to show you around,” she gushed.

“Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!” a voice said in his head. But to be polite, Cris took the card from her. He casually scanned it with the intention of shoving the business card into the back pocket of his jeans to be forgotten amongst the spare change and lint balls, but he did a double take when he spotted the name.

“Cynthia
Gibbons?”

“That's right!” She pointed down at a line of text. “And on there you'll find my office number and cell number, if you can't catch me at the office. Sometimes I'm off site. Like I said, give me a call and I can show you around.” She lowered her voice seductively. “I can assure you that you'll definitely have a good time.”

“Is your sister Lauren Gibbons?”

Cynthia's grin faltered. She cleared her throat before regaining her wide smile. “Why, yes, she's my baby sister! Do you know her?”

Now he realized why the groupie seemed so familiar. She didn't exactly look like Lauren, but she had similar mannerisms and facial expressions.

“Yeah, I do. In fact, we have a date set for this afternoon.”

Cynthia's grin instantly disappeared. Her delicate brows knitted together. She brought a hand to her hip.
“You
have a date with Lauren?”

Her voice was tinged more with indignation than disbelief. You would think Cris was cheating on her from the way she reacted.

“Uh . . . yeah.”

“What?
That lyin' little bitch!” Cynthia let out an angry gust of air through her petite nostrils before stomping her foot on the hardwood floor. She narrowed her eyes at Cris while he stared at her in wide-eyed amazement.

“Give me that,” she snapped before yanking her business card out of his hand. She shoved it back into her purse. “What a damn waste of time!” She closed the V-neck of her dress, covering her ample bosom. “I can't believe she didn't tell me! She knows the damn rules!”

Cynthia then abruptly turned away from him and tossed her grocery basket aside. It landed with a thump on a pile of bread rolls. She angrily strode down the produce aisle back to the front of the store, still muttering to herself, her long hair swinging behind her.

Cris had become mute with shock, but as he watched Cynthia stalk off, something in particular that she'd said stood out to him.

“Rules?”
he repeated. “What rules?”

Jamal had said that Lauren came from a family of gold diggers. He claimed they were skilled women who had been running this game for generations.
“They're the Jedi Knights of gold digging, Cris!”
Jamal had exclaimed in his usual over-the-top way.

At the time, Cris hadn't taken Jamal very seriously, but after meeting Cynthia, and given what she'd just said, he was starting to wonder if maybe he had dismissed Jamal's warnings too quickly.

What had Cynthia meant by “she knows the rules”? What rules? Were they rules that the Gibbons girls played by? Were they rules that they followed to ensnare men?

Cris slowly set his basket of strawberries and grapes on the cheese counter. Though he hated to admit it, his sense of unease was growing. He was starting to wonder if maybe Jamal had been right about Lauren all along. Maybe she wasn't sweet and withdrawn. Maybe she
was
a gold digger, but one with methods that were less obvious than her sister Cynthia's.

“Lauren knows how to use reverse psychology to make you think
you
were the one who asked her out, but really she was after you the whole time,”
Jamal had insisted.

“Maybe he's right,” Cris now muttered, only to shake his head a second later.

Lauren was
real.
He had sensed it from the beginning. He felt it when he was around her. She couldn't have fooled him that easily. But he couldn't deny that evidence now pointed to the contrary.

Cris gritted his teeth as he left his basket and walked toward the market doors. His plans for later today would definitely have to change. No more hot-air balloon ride. No more champagne, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and expensive cheese. No more ten-thousand-dollar fireworks display. He would have to do something drastic to find out if the woman he could see himself falling for was really whom she appeared to be.