Can't Stand the Heat (14 page)

“No, Cris!” She shot up from the couch and walked around the coffee table to stand in front of him. “Those are the rules, but that doesn't mean I have to live by them! Yes, my mother and my sisters do things that I'm not proud of, but I swear that's not who
I
am!” She grabbed his hand. “I mean . . . not . . . not anymore. I've changed!”

“Not anymore?
And when did you see the light, Lauren? Fifteen minutes ago when we started this conversation?”

She pursed her lips. He was mocking her. Even though she had been honest with him and told him everything, he was mocking her.

Lauren let go of his hand and took a step back.

“Or was it three minutes ago when I called you on it?”

She turned away from him.

“Is that when you decided to change your ways? Is that when you had your epiphany?”

“No,” she snapped, “it was eight months ago when my last boyfriend left me with a black eye, bloody nose, and busted lip.”

Lauren walked back to the couch and sat down. She glowered down at her carpet, refusing to look up at Cris again.

“
A black eye?
No one would give you a black eye.”

“I told you that I don't lie, Cris.”

“But you're so . . . little,” Cris said with disbelief. “You're barely a . . . Who . . . I mean . . . what man would hit you?”

“James Sayers,” she sniffed. “He owns a law firm in town.”

Cris's face clouded over. He nodded with recognition. “I've heard of him.”

“
Everybody's
heard of him! He's Mr. Popular around here.”

“And Mr. Popular hit you?”

“I told him he was too controlling,” she mumbled, still staring at the carpet. “I told him that he acted like he owned me. I said I was leaving him and he
beat
me,” she said before glaring up at Cris. Her eyes went glacial. “But he only did it once. I'm not that type of woman, Cris. I wouldn't let him beat me again.
No one
owns me, but me! And no amount of cash can buy me! I'm my own woman! Nobody can . . .” Her voice drifted off when she realized that she was shaking. She tightly linked her hands together and took a calming breath.

“Please tell me that you didn't let him get away with that. Did you call the police?”

“Of course I did! I drove straight to the sheriff's office and tried to file a report that night. I told some detective what had happened and the next thing I knew Sheriff McKinney himself shows up in the interview room. He asked me if I correctly remembered all the facts of that night. I told him yes. He asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this. I told him yes. He asked the detective to leave the room.

“That's when I knew something was up. It didn't feel right. When we were alone, the sheriff told me ‘confidentially' that because there were no witnesses, it would be my word against James's. James could just as easily argue that
I
assaulted
him
. And lots of people in town aren't exactly fond of me or my family, as you well know. We're gold diggers . . . manipulators . . . schemers. No one would believe one of us, and even if they did, they'd probably say I was a whore who deserved what I got.

“But that didn't stop me either. I still wanted to press charges. So what if it was James's word against mine. I knew I was telling the truth! I knew I didn't deserve that! But then”—she closed her eyes—“But then the sheriff told me if I pressed charges, I'd better understand what was really at stake.”

She glanced up at Cris. He looked appalled.

“He said someone powerful like James could make it hard for me and my family in Chesterton. We've been here longer, but a man like him—with his money and connections—pulls a lot more weight in town. That stopped me.” She threw up her hands. “Look, I didn't give a damn about what James could do to me! What more could he do? I'm sitting there with a bloody nose and mouth! I'm in my nightgown and in a wool blanket the detective gave me. But my sisters and my mother and my niece still live here, Cris, and, well . . . I got the point.
Lesson learned!
Sheriff McKinney suggested I go, spend the night at my mother's, and sleep on it. I didn't come back the next day and I didn't press charges. So far it's worked out OK. James has left me and my family alone . . . most of the time.”

“We had one little incident a couple of weeks ago,” she mumbled, remembering their last exchange in the grocery store parking lot. “But besides that, I haven't had any problems.”

Cris shook his head. “I had no idea, Lauren.”

“Of course not. That's one of the few stories the gossips around town don't know. But like I said, lesson learned. I changed my ways after that. So from now on, so that there's no confusion, so that no one misunderstands what they
can
and what they
can't
do to me, I don't accept money or gifts from men. The last check I've gotten from any man is the one you wrote me for catering your dinner party, and I didn't even want to accept that.”

“I noticed.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.

“And you didn't have to hide your wallet tonight. I would have insisted we go Dutch anyway.”

He gazed at the floor, now looking shamefaced.

She slapped her hands on her thighs and hoisted herself to her feet. “Well, that's everything: My big, fat sob story. I laid all my cards on the table like you laid yours,” she said with a false casualness, walking to her apartment door. “I'm a reformed gold digger from a family of gold diggers. I'm no virgin, but I haven't been around the block as much as you might have heard. The last relationship I had was an abusive one and tonight was the first real date I've been on since then. Now you know everything about me, about how screwed up my life is.” She undid the chain and the lock on her door. “So I guess you'll be leaving now.”

She didn't look at him as she swung the door open. Instead she stared down at the brass doorknob. It hurt to be rejected like this, as she had expected it would. And she was being rejected because of
what?
Town gossip? Mistakes she had made in the past?

But it's better that it happened now
,
before I got too attached to him,
she lied to herself.
It's like ripping off a Band-Aid; better to do it quickly rather than slowly and painfully. Besides, I didn't want to fall in love anyway.

Lauren was telling herself this, but it still didn't end the aching in her chest.

When Cris stood in the opened doorway, not saying a word, she sighed.

Why is he drawing this out? Why doesn't he just leave?
She stole a glance up at him just as he gently tugged her hand away from the brass knob and closed the door. He held her hand in his own, making her frown.

“You're not . . . you're not leaving?”

He shook his head and raised his other hand to gently caress her chin. Her frown deepened.

“But I thought . . . I thought you . . . you were . . .”

“I owe you an apology. I'm sorry for testing you like that. I didn't have the right to do that to you. I'm sorry for not trusting you, either.”

Lauren had prepared herself for rejection, but she wasn't prepared for this. She was at a loss for words. Then suddenly, he did what she had been waiting all night for him to do. He leaned down and kissed her.

Cris pulled her toward him and she instantly relaxed in his strong arms, standing on the tips of her toes in her canvas sandals to meet his kiss. He was much, much bigger than she was, but he held her with a tenderness that made her forget his overwhelming size. He held her like she was a delicate figurine that had to be handled with care.

She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and opened her mouth to intensify the kiss, showing him that she wasn't as delicate as she might seem. Suddenly, his tenderness disappeared. He became more forceful and urgent. He met her tongue with his own, pressing her hard against him, making her moan against his lips.

Lauren's heart began to pound and a languid heat coasted over her, making her feel as if the temperature in the room had risen another twenty degrees. She started to feel that familiar tingle between her thighs that let her know that if they didn't stop soon, she could get herself into serious trouble. But she ignored that warning, letting him fist his hand in her hair and cup her bottom. She was acting on pure instinct, and instinctively, she didn't want the warm sensation to end.

She raised one of her legs, rubbing her thigh against his manhood yearningly, taunting him. His grip tightened even more and suddenly his hand went to the zipper of her sundress. He lowered it and then began to raise the skirt. It was then that reason, not instinct, kicked in for Lauren.

“You're going to end up stark naked if you don't end this,” a voice in her head said as they kissed. “He's different, remember? You've changed your ways. You don't want to seduce him
this
quickly.
What will he think?”

With great agony, she tugged her mouth away, catching him by surprise.

“Cris,” she said breathlessly against his lips, “put me down.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

“Just . . . just put me down.”

He slowly lowered her back to the floor. She realized as she took several steps back from him that she wasn't the only one breathing hard.

She quickly raised the zipper of her dress and pushed her hair out of her face. He closed his eyes and took a long, calming breath. They stood in silence.

“Too fast?” he finally asked seconds later, opening his eyes.

She smiled and nodded sheepishly. “Even for a reformed gold digger.”

“I'm sorry. I got carried away.”

“No, it wasn't just you! I was just as willing as you were. Trust me! But . . . it just feels like . . . we need to—”

“Slow down a little,” he said, finishing for her. “I get it. I got caught up in the moment.”

“I did, too.”

They looked longingly at one another for several seconds.

Her body still ached for him. The tingling between her legs hadn't disappeared. Her nipples were so hard that they pressed urgently against the coarse cotton fabric of her sundress, begging to be let out and to let Cris's hands roam over them. But she ordered her body to pipe down.

“I should probably go,” Cris said, reaching for the door handle.

She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or disappointed by his announcement.

“I'll see you soon, I hope?” She bit her lower lip anxiously.

He opened her front door and smiled. “How about next Sunday? I can pick you up at five o'clock.”

“That works for me.” He raised his hand to her face and slowly ran his finger along her jawline. He leaned down and kissed her again. This time it was a light, tender peck—a lot more restrained than the earlier kiss—but she felt the need inside her catch fire all over again. “I guess I'll see you then.”

“OK,” she said quietly with a smile.

When Lauren shut the door behind him, she fell hard against it, still smiling, holding her hand against her chest, willing her heart to stop racing. Suddenly, her phone rang. She slowly walked over to it, lost in a tranquil daze. The night had been more than she expected, filled with highs and lows, but it had ended on such a good note. She had poured her heart out to Cris—showed him all her scars—and he hadn't judged her. He had understood.

She pressed the ANSWER button on the phone and lifted her receiver to her ear. “Hello?” she answered dreamily.

When she heard the voice on the other end of the line, her smile instantly disappeared. She narrowed her eyes into thin slits.

“Yeah, Cynthia,” she said tightly. “Uh-huh . . . uh-huh . . . You don't say . . . Yeah, well, now that you mention it, Big Sis, I have a big damn bone to pick with you, too.”

“S
he broke
the rules!”
Cynthia shouted, pointing across the living room at Lauren.

Lauren crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyes heavenward. Her eldest sister could be so melodramatic sometimes. She slumped back against the limestone mantel over the fireplace.

Dawn and Stephanie sat on the Queen Anne sofa facing both of them, making it obvious that they weren't choosing sides in this argument—at least not openly. Their mother perched on the end of her favorite settee, trying her best to act as mediator. She sipped daintily from a chilled glass of iced tea garnished with a mint leaf, placed it on a coaster on the end table beside her, and loudly cleared her throat.

“Cynthia, baby, I understand you're upset. But—”

“ ‘Upset' is putting it lightly, Mama!” Cynthia bellowed.

“What's the point of having the damn rules if we aren't going to follow them? You gave her first dibs and she tossed him back! We were all there! We all heard her! She said she wasn't interested! He was fair game and she—”

“Maybe she just changed her mind,” their mother ventured softly. “Maybe Lauren had a chance to look over his stats again and she decided he was worth the effort. I know
I
would have, in her position.”

“I don't care about his stats,” Lauren said, pushing away from the fireplace. “That isn't why I went on a date with him. When I agreed to go out with Cris—who has a name, by the way; I hate that we keep talking about him like he's some inanimate object.”

At that, Stephanie covered her mouth and snickered.

“When I agreed to go out with Cris, I wasn't thinking about his money or that he's an ex-football player. He's a nice guy. He's very smart and sweet and—”

“Oh, bullshit!” Cynthia shouted. “Who the hell do you think you're kiddin'?”

“Cynthia,” Yolanda said tightly, cutting her eyes at her daughter. “Watch your language in this house. I won't listen to another outburst like that!”

“Sorry, Mama.” Cynthia shifted in her chair to face Lauren.

“But you know damn well, Laurie, that the only thing that made you go on a date with Cris Weaver was the forty million dollars in his bank account!”

“That is not true!” Lauren shouted back.

“You act like you're so much better than the rest of us when you do the same damn thing we do! At least we're
honest
about it. Instead, you act like some prissy saint who's—”

“Just because I choose to no longer hunt men like they're wild game on the savanna doesn't mean I think I'm a saint! In fact, I'm far from it.”

“You're damn right about that,” Cynthia challenged.

“But I'm not going to pretend that what you do . . . what you
all
do . . . is right,” Lauren continued, ignoring her sister. “And I'm glad—hell, I'm damn near
elated
—that I stopped you from getting your claws into Cris! He doesn't deserve to be treated like an ATM. He's a good man, a good person! You'll just have to find your gravy boat somewhere else!”

Cynthia gritted her teeth and fumed. The other sisters stayed silent, happy to watch the argument from the sidelines for once.

Yolanda gazed up at Lauren. “You really
do
like him, don't you, honey?”

“Well . . . yeah. Yeah, I do.”

It was hard to tell her mother and her sisters how she really felt about Cris. She doubted any of them had ever truly fallen in love before, or at least she had never seen any evidence of those emotions in them. The idea of loving a man for who he was—and not for his money or his power—was so foreign in her family.

And besides, Lauren couldn't say for sure if she
was
falling in love. She barely knew Cris. She was doubtful of her feelings, but they were so strong and so intense. It had to be more than lust.

“Like I said,” Lauren began, clearing her throat, “he's a nice guy and—”

“I'm sorry, Mama!” Cynthia rose from her chair. “But I can't take any more of this bull . . .”

She stopped when Yolanda narrowed her eyes at her warningly.

“This
farce
. . . and I refuse to waste any more time listening. I have to get back to work.”

“But you were the one who called the meeting!” Dawn argued, crossing her arms over her chest, causing the sleeves of her colorful slinky top to billow and the many bangles on her wrist to clink together. She had stayed quiet for most of Cynthia and Lauren's argument, but she wouldn't stay quiet now. “I canceled a gallery conference call for this and now you're just going to
leave?”

Cynthia tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Lauren refuses to admit that she's wrong. I don't see the point of sitting around and listening to more of her lies.” Cynthia then threw her handbag over her shoulder. “Good-bye, Mama . . . Stephanie . . . Dawn.” She pointedly avoided saying good-bye to Lauren, put on her dark-tinted sunglasses, and walked out of the sitting room.

“Well, if Cynthia is leaving, I'm sure as hell not staying,” Dawn said, rising from the sofa with hands on hips. She then abruptly turned and sashayed out of the room, a haze of color flying behind her.

Seconds later, Stephanie sighed, setting the glass she was holding onto the coffee table. “I should probably leave, too. I have a showing in an hour.” She glanced down at her watch. “The house is going to be a tough sell at seven hundred five K, but I told my client I'd give it the ol' college try.”

She then rose to her feet, awkwardly tugging down the hem of her short gray skirt and her tightly fitted suit jacket as she did so. She walked toward her mother and leaned down, giving an air kiss near both of the older woman's cheeks. She then glanced at Lauren, gave a sympathetic smile, and waved.

“See you at brunch on Saturday,” she said quietly before striding out of the room in her patent-leather Louboutin pumps.

Yolanda pursed her lips. She then turned to look at Lauren.

“I wouldn't take what your sister said to heart, Laurie. That's just how she is.”

Lauren walked toward her mother. “I've learned to ignore her. She's been that way since birth!” Lauren then flopped onto the sofa.

Her mother gave a small smile. “Cynthia takes the business of getting a man very seriously. We
all
do, Laurie.”

“Look, I know how you feel about this, Mama, and I—”

“No, you don't,” Yolanda said softly. “Not really.”

Lauren watched as her mother stood from the settee and slowly walked to the other side of the room. She gazed out the window at the front yard with her hands clasped in front of her and her back facing Lauren. Standing there, she looked almost regal, like a queen gazing at her kingdom.

“Remember how I told you before that the biggest mistake you made with James was giving him too much power?”

“No, the biggest mistake I made with James was dating him in the first place.”

“No, Laurie, in the right hands, James could have been molded into anything you wanted. That big ol' ego of his could have been used against him.” She turned slightly and gazed coolly over her shoulder at her daughter. “But then again, it's never been in your nature to do the molding, has it? I've taught you what I could—all the tricks of the trade, as they say—but deep down, I could tell your heart was never in it, not like your sisters. You've never been very practical, Laurie. You've always been a hopeless romantic.”

From anyone else, that would have been a compliment. But Lauren knew that was not what her mother intended, and she flinched at the sting of her words. Yolanda Gibbons
despised
romantics. She had banned her daughters from reading fairy tales when they were little and confiscated any romance novels she found in their rooms when they were teenagers. It wasn't the sex that bothered her so much as the sappy idealism: the swooning damsel in distress, the man coming to her rescue, and the both of them living together happily ever after.

“I won't have you reading this nonsense,”
she would say.

“There is nothing about the way I'm handling this that isn't practical, Mama,” Lauren argued, shaking off those memories. “Cris and I are just getting to know each other and—”

“But you've already fallen for him,” her mother countered, finally turning away from the window. She walked toward Lauren. “I can tell. Cynthia thinks it's an act, but I know better, honey. You understand that by falling for him, you're givin' him power over you, the
ultimate
control. I would think that after your bad experience with James, you would have learned your lesson by now.”

“Cris is nothing like James.”

“So you say.” Her mother gave a cynical smile. “But give a man an inch and he'll take a mile. They always do.”

“Well, maybe it's just the men
you've
dealt with.”

Her mother's nostrils flared. Yolanda took a calming breath, then her polite smile returned.

“Your naïveté never ceases to amaze me, honey, but you're a grown woman, as you often tell me. I can't make you do what I want you to do. And there are only so many warnings I can give you. I know it's your decision.” She stood in front of Lauren with her arms crossed over her chest. “But know this: The rules that I and your Grandmother Althea made weren't based on just any ol' whim. These were based on
real
experiences that we both had with life and men . . . the good, the bad, and the ugly. If you choose to ignore them, you do it at your own risk.”

Her mother made it sound so dire, like falling in love was the same as leaping out of a plane without a parachute.

“Understood,” Lauren answered succinctly as she stood and glared back at her mother, not wavering her gaze. “But respectfully, Mama, I'll take my chances.”

She wasn't going to back down on this. She knew her mother, her sisters, and, yes, even Grandmother Althea, were wrong. All men weren't the same, and Cris and James were as vastly different as they come. Comparing them was like trying to compare a rock to a bird, or a tree to a waterfall. Just because they existed on the same terra firma didn't mean they were of like kind.

“Well, now that all your sisters have left, I guess you'll be going back to your restaurant.”

“Yeah, I have to finish with prep work for the day. I told them I was stepping out for an hour or two to come here, but I should get back soon.”

She watched as her mother leaned over and began to collect drinking glasses from the end tables.

“Why are you doing that?” Lauren asked.

Her mother glanced over her shoulder at her, looking confused. “Why am I doing what?”

“Why are you cleaning up? I don't think I've seen you pick up glasses after anyone my entire life,” Lauren said with a snort. “Why don't you have Esmeralda or Rosa or one of the others do it?”

“Because I am perfectly capable of cleaning up after myself. Besides, Rosa is busy shining silverware in the kitchen. She hasn't done it in a month. The others”—her mother gave a casual shrug—“well, I just . . . gave them the day off.”

Lauren followed her mother into the corridor.
“All
of them? Is it some kind of Catholic holiday I don't know about?”

“I wouldn't know, Lauren.”

Lauren laughed. “Then why would—”

“I said I don't know!” her mother shouted, suddenly turning on her and making the iced tea slosh over the sides of the glasses onto her hands and the hardwood floor. “I
don't
know! So stop askin' me!”

Yolanda then turned and marched toward the end of the corridor.

There were many things that Yolanda Gibbons did to convey her displeasure: cutting her eyes, frowning, or giving a cold silence. But shouting certainly wasn't one of them. She said it was unladylike and undignified. So for her to do it now was definitely out of character.

“What the hell has gotten into her?” Lauren muttered to herself.