Flirting With Temptation (25 page)

Then number 30 came out. She was older than the college kids but younger than Babette, and she wore one of those Texas flag bikinis that always got Jeff’s attention on the beach, and the attention of every other red-blooded male, judging by the way the shouts of the crowd suddenly escalated, and every judge leaned forward.

“Damn,” Jeff muttered, glancing toward the side stage and toward Babette, who was suddenly looking a bit worried.

Texas Flag didn’t exactly strut; she sauntered. And she wasn’t blond, as most of the other contestants were, but she had long, straight brunette hair that reminded Jeff of Demi Moore’s. As a matter of fact, she had that Demi Moore look. Or maybe it was more Penelope Cruz. Or Eva Mendes. Jeff didn’t know, but the woman had that something that stood out, and obviously, everyone noticed.

Jeff swallowed hard, and suddenly regretted the fact that he wasn’t allowing Babette to flirt. Flirting, she’d beat Miss Texas hands down. But without flirting, he wasn’t so sure. And damn it, he didn’t want her embarrassed. He didn’t want her to lose.

The next three contestants passed without much fanfare, and then the only redhead in the bunch, consequently the last contestant, stepped onto the stage.

Unlike the majority of the other contestants, Babette wasn’t wearing stilettos, or anything else on her feet, which made her suddenly seem smaller, or younger, or something. Her hair had that beach-mussed look, all wild and red, curls that toppled down her back like a fountain of fire.

Her tiny green bikini caught the sunlight and shimmered as she moved toward the center of the stage and stopped in front of the judges. Every other contestant had smiled, winked, blown kisses or shimmied to gain their attention.

Babette didn’t. In fact, she looked at them as though she didn’t want anything to do with them, as though they weren’t worthy of her smile, or of her touch. It was a brooding, sultry look that was only heightened when she put one hand to the strap at her shoulder, fiddled with it as though she were attempting to flash a breast, then shook her head, turned, and stalked off stage.

Jeff’s cock twitched. He wanted her. Now. And from the screams and caveman grunts of every male in the audience, so did every other guy.

Surfer guy reappeared on the stage, and he released a low whistle into the microphone toward Babette. “Have mercy, have we got a competition or what?” he asked. “Now tell me if you like what you see!”

The crowd went ballistic, and more people from the beach ran toward the commotion to get in on the fun. Jeff turned, saw that he couldn’t even see where the crowd ended anymore, since the back rows were now composed of people sitting on other’s shoulders to catch the show.

To catch Babette’s show.

Surfer guy announced that the contestants would cross once more, this time to music, and then the judges would make their decision. He also encouraged the girls to “Work it, and work it good!”

Jeff watched as contestant after contestant danced her way across the stage, with three of them displaying their boobs as a part of their act. But he already suspected that the judges had seen the same thing he had in round one. There was Miss Texas and there was Red. No one else even hit the radar, whether they displayed their breasts or not. So Jeff waited, and then held his breath when number 30 was called.

The brunette’s song was, predictably, “God Bless Texas.” Evidently, she’d taken note of the response Babette got on the first pass, because she didn’t flirt with the judges; she tempted them. She pranced toward them, leaned over as though preparing to offer them their own peek show into her top, and then turned, slinging silky brown hair behind her as she danced. She waited for the song to hit those last three beats, to which she pumped her hips from side to side and then let the crowd sing the last three words.

Boom, boom, boom
. . . God Bless Texas!

This was it. Miss Texas had given it her best shot, and it was a pretty good one, but Jeff had no doubt it wasn’t good enough. He watched Babette exit the line, go over to the surfer dude and ask him a question. He smiled broadly, nodded, and then started swapping the CDs in the lineup. Then she moved back to the line and turned her head away from the crowd while the next three contestants did their dances.

Jeff didn’t watch any of them; his attention was on Babette, her body slightly swaying as she apparently got ready for her turn. He couldn’t wait to see what song she’d selected, and how she planned to work the crowd this time.

Finally, surfer dude announced number 34, and “Cyclone” by Baby Bash boomed from the speakers on the stage. Jeff, of course, had seen the sizzling strip club video that went along with the song.

Evidently, so had Babette.

In striptease fashion, she moved seductively across the stage, stopped in the center, and proceeded to dance to the steamy lyrics. But this was no ordinary dance. She paid no attention to the crowd, obvious by her closed eyes and the way her body moved, swaying similarly to those lap dancers in the video, as though she weren’t moving, but flowing. Her hands moved up her side, skimmed over her breasts and then continued along her jaw, her mouth slightly open as she tunneled her fingers through her hair and lifted the heavy mass from her tiny frame.

Her hips undulated in complete harmony to the melody, which steadily built and escalated in the same rhythm as sex. Or that’s the way it seemed to Jeff. And to every other guy panting in the audience. Jeff had no doubt that they were all wishing they could “do it all night long” with Babette, just like the lyrics stated. But when the song ended, she exited the stage, and they were all left wanting her.

The same way Jeff wanted her.

“Damn, anybody got her number?” some guy asked beside Jeff.

Jeff didn’t bother turning to see who’d asked; there were too many guys asking, anyway. They were all talking and gawking and leering, and Jeff was suddenly fuming. He’d thought this was a great idea, but standing here with a mob of men who’d like nothing better than to get their hands on Babette wasn’t the way he pictured this little challenge ending.

Thankfully, surfer guy finally made his way back up on stage and announced the judges had selected the winners. He started with third place, the blond with the one-piece dental floss number. Then he announced second place. Jeff, and everyone else, from the sound of things, wasn’t surprised when he announced Miss Texas.

“And our winner is,” he said loudly, his voice bellowing through the speakers now, “Contestant thirty-four!”

Babette smiled broadly, and blushed slightly, as she took the stage and accepted her check. The crowd yelled and cheered, and she graciously nodded her appreciation.

After everything finally died down, the event ended, and Jeff moved to the side of the stage, where she was completely surrounded by adoring, and apparently horny, males.

“Thank you,” she repeated again and again, while Jeff worked his way through the pack, took her hand, and stated, “We’re leaving now.”

Babette was still smiling when they neared White Sands, and Jeff was merely enjoying listening to her chat about her victory.

“I told you I’d win,” she said again, for about the tenth time, as they made their way toward the back of their resort.

“Yes, you did, and you were right.”

She stopped walking.

“What?” he asked.

“You knew I would, didn’t you? And without flirting.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I did, though I’ll admit that Miss Lone Star gave you a decent run for the money.”

She smirked at that. “Why? Why did you think I’d win, especially when I’m not built like the typical bikini contest winner?”

He’d had enough. He’d thought winning that contest would show her she had everything every other woman had and then some, but she was still dwelling on what she considered her main negative aspect. And he wasn’t listening to it anymore. It was time she understood, and he was going to set the record straight.

“Babette, I’ve told you before, and I’m telling you again, your body is perfect.”

Her head had already started shaking to disagree, and she opened her mouth to argue, but then she looked at him, and apparently she saw that this wasn’t the time to disagree. He wasn’t backing down.

“There’s nothing—nothing—wrong with you. I wouldn’t change a thing. You’re natural, and you’re exceptional. And it goes way beyond how well you fill out your top. You mesmerized every guy there the minute you walked on that stage, and I can guarantee you that if they weren’t all at least marginally hard just looking at you, then they don’t belong in the male gender.”

She gaped at that, but he was on a roll, and he wasn’t ready to stop.

“I won’t listen to you put yourself down again. You’re what every guy there wants, and while they only wanted in your pants, or your bikini, as the case may be, if they had a chance to get to know that the fire extends beyond the surface, then they’d want even more than a romp in the sack. That’s what happens when I—when guys—get to know you. They want more.” He could tell he’d said too much, because her head tilted slightly, and her eyes glistened, just a bit, but he noticed. He swallowed. “Just don’t let me ever hear you put yourself down again. Understood?”

She nodded.

“Babette! Yoohoo! Are you ready for your cooking lesson now?” Rose’s shrill squeal stood out among the other sounds on the beach, and they both turned toward Rose and her friends, perched on the Sunny Beaches deck. “Are you ready?” she repeated.

“Yes,” Babette answered, her voice a little shaky. Then she turned to Jeff and said, “Don’t forget to cancel your plans for tomorrow night. That was the deal. And come to my condo, around seven. I have something to show you.”

He really didn’t want to wait until tomorrow night to continue whatever they’d touched on now, whatever had transpired between them this afternoon with the walk on the beach and the contest and his sudden blurt of honesty now, but Rose and her crew were already climbing down the deck stairs and heading toward White Sands.

“Deal?” Babette repeated.

“Wouldn’t want to miss anything you have to show me, Babette. Deal.”

Chapter 16

G
ertrude Robinson was frustrated beyond measure. She and Paul had been through this course four days in a row, and her patience was running thin. The only answer Henry seemed to give her was the one telling her to keep asking questions.

It simply made no sense.

She glanced down at her pink shoes, and then at the pink golf ball that Paul had bought her, for good luck. He’d also bought her some pink golf gloves, which she was very thankful for; she’d started to get a couple of blisters after the second day. Today, she’d decided that perhaps Paul was right; maybe she needed more pink. Pink did make her feel better, after all, so she’d bought a new collared shirt, pink, of course, and a new pink and white skirt. Even so, it wasn’t lucky enough, because Henry was being particularly stubborn, which simply wasn’t like the Henry she knew.

“You okay, Gertrude? It’s your turn,” Paul said, as they neared hole sixteen.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, putting her ball on one of the notches and hitting it without any real care where it went. The little pink thing popped completely out of the lane and ended up on the green for hole fifteen.

Chuckling, Paul retrieved it, came back to Gertrude, and held it out for her. “Wanna talk about it?”

She felt her lower lip quiver. “I’m so dispirited that I forgot to ask a question.”

His chest rose steadily as he took a deep breath, quirked his mouth to the side, and then let it out. “Gert.”

“What?”

“I think it’s time you tell me what we’re doing here, don’t you?”

She blinked. “What we’re doing?”

“Come over here.” He took the pink ball from her left hand, the putter from her right, then he indicated a wooden bench off to the side of hole sixteen.

Too spent to argue, she walked beside him and sat down.

“You’re asking questions?”

She nodded, suddenly realizing the error of her statement only moments before. Paul hadn’t known she was trying to talk to Henry; he was simply being the good friend that he was and playing golf with her, every day, at any time she wanted. She shouldn’t be upset when she had someone so nice who was willing to do all of that and without even questioning why. “I’m sorry,” she said, but she didn’t know what to say she was sorry for.

“So, what’s he saying?” Paul asked.

Gert’s eyes widened to the point of pain. “What?”

“Come on, Gertrude. We’ve been friends way too long for you to be able to pull one over on me, even if I haven’t seen you in a few years. You’re talking to Henry, aren’t you?”

She fought for composure. “What makes you say that? How on earth would I talk to Henry? We both know he’s gone.”

“We both know he’s here,” Paul stated flatly.

There went her eyes again. “What—what are you saying, Paul?”

“During the times when Henry and I came to golf on our own, without you and Emily with us, we talked about
things
.”

“What sorts of things?” she asked, keeping her voice as steady as possible, given the subject matter.

“He’d talk about how lucky he was to have you, and I’d talk about how lucky I was to have Emily, of course. We were both very fortunate to find a lasting love, the way we both did, and we knew the value of it. You completed Henry the way Emily completed me.” His blue-gray eyes focused on her as he spoke. “It’s not common to find someone you’re so close to, the way we were each so close to our wives, the way that Henry and I were as close as brothers, and the way the four of us bonded the way we did.”

Gertrude nodded. They
had
all been very close, which was why she and Paul had reconnected so easily. Some bonds were like that, you left off at a spot in the past, but then later on, you picked right back up where you’d left off. Those were the best kinds of relationships, in Gert’s book. The ones that stood the test of time.

“So one day back then, he and I were on the course, and it was an incredible day. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot to stay out for a round of eighteen, and there was a nice breeze, that time of year, you know, when Spring is in the air.”