Love Game (12 page)

C
HRIS WORRIED HER
bottom
lip as she fingered the envelope Greg had slipped her after “dropping by” shortly before noon.

He hadn’t stayed more than thirty minutes but it had felt like hours. Agonizing hours of polite chitchat with her mother and what seemed to be an inordinate amount of attention lavished on Audrey. The little girl who had done a quick about-face once Greg had told her she was the reason for his visit.

She’d gobbled it up, as if starved for attention. Never mind that Mama had poured it on her all morning, trying to placate a conscience working overtime. Chris hated paper dolls but Audrey loved them, so play with them they did. Audrey wanted to go to the park, so to the park they went. No matter it was cold and Chris wanted to be inside instead of chafing stiff fingers and paying her penance with each push of a swing. She’d done everything except buy jelly beans.

Those, she’d planned to buy this afternoon but Greg had saved her the trip. Well, Chris thought with a huff, maybe Greg could fool Audrey into thinking he was a “super-cool dude,” but she knew better. He was a super-smooth operator who was trying to convince both child and mother that he was something he wasn’t: Daddy material. Good thing she knew him as well as she did, or Greg might have fooled her, as well. He’d actually gotten on his knees to say goodbye to Audrey and give her a high five.

Audrey had giggled as they
slapped palms, then had thrown her arms around his neck. Standing protectively close, Chris had heard her whisper, “Do you like kids?”

Greg’s resounding, “You bet I do, and I especially like you” was accompanied by a challenging smile shot at Chris.

Just remembering it had Chris grinding her teeth while her throat tightened all over again. She couldn’t deny that she was almost as touched as she was furious with the man. That Greg was trying to move their relationship into deeper waters was obvious. But even if she could shore up the guts to give them a chance, it couldn’t possibly work. Greg wasn’t paternal; he was a strategist and she was his target for conquest.

For all his seeming sincerity with Audrey—and perhaps he even believed it himself—the bottom line was, he was using a child to manipulate the situation to his advantage.

“Oh, Greg.” Chris sighed. “If only you were less of what you are and more of what Audrey and I need.” Glancing around her old bedroom, Chris tried to imagine sharing such simple, domestic surroundings with him.

But when the vision came with surprising speed, she discarded it just as quickly. Too risky to let herself even think such things. She was vulnerable and he was dangerous. Greg thrilled to a challenge; winning was the name of the game for him. And should he win her, the challenge would be over.

Steeling herself for what was sure to be an assault on her defenses, Chris opened the envelope, fully expecting a love letter minus the gush. Sappy wasn’t his style.

And neither were love letters, even minus the gush. His script and the message she read were as bold as the man himself.

A nap!

Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard Greg’s low laughter. He knew very well that even if she was dead on her feet she wouldn’t have a prayer of sleeping after this. Which only made her flounce onto the bed and bury her head in a pillow. By golly, she’d take a nap just to spite him!

Ten minutes later, Chris gave it up. No use, her stomach was churning in anticipation. And apprehension. What game was he playing? What adventures might the night hold? And
what
had he bought for her to wear? Nothing else beneath her coat? Heavens, what if he’d sent a merry widow with fishnet stockings and spike heels? And if he had, would she be brazen enough to meet his challenge and wear them?

The sound of the doorbell had Chris racing for the door, certain that Frederick’s of Hollywood boxes awaited and how in the world would she explain
that
to her mother?

With a sinking sensation she saw Rick accept the packages. Next to Anna and Don, her brother was the worst person to get a hint of the double life she was leading.

“These are for you, sis.” He gave her a probing look.

Heart in throat, Chris claimed the pile of distinctively wrapped boxes with a breathless, “Thanks.”

“Neiman Marcus. Hmm.”

Hmm, indeed! She had to admit, whatever Greg lacked in paternal attributes he more than made up for in the ability to surprise and impress.

“I’ve gotta hand it to him, Chris, his taste in stores is right up there with his taste in women. But I can’t help but wonder about his intentions. You’re my sister and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“That makes
two of us, Rick. Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl who’s simply enjoying a whirlwind romance.”

“And that’s all it is for him, too?”

Chris shrugged. “Don’t tell anyone about these, okay? I’d like to check it out without an audience.”

“Sure.” Rick caught her arm as she turned. “You know, I never thought I’d play the devil’s advocate, but a man does not go shopping at Neiman’s for a woman unless he’s after more than a whirlwind romance. Like the saying goes, the bigger they are the harder they fall. I think I hear a timber going down with a really big crash. Just something you might keep in mind.”

“I do.” Boxes piled to her chin, Chris took off, perturbed that Rick had spoiled her enjoyment with a guilt trip. She had enough of that to deal with already as a mother without adding her lover to the emotional heap.

Of course she didn’t want to hurt Greg. And as long as they abided by the rules they’d agreed on, he’d be fine and so would she. She’d have to remind him of that tonight.

And then she’d have to put her foot down about any future visits with Audrey. No more steamrolling his way into the carefully orchestrated life she’d put on hold for a week, period. That was that and if he didn’t like it, then…

Then they’d both be better off calling it quits now. Before either of them got hurt.
But could you do it, Chris? Could you walk away tonight without a backward glance?

The question haunted
her as she unwrapped the smallest box and found—

Stockings. But not just any stockings. A black seam up the backs with rhinestones circling one ankle; silky and transparent, they slid through her fingers like a French kiss wrapped in a whisper.

Eagerly opening the second package, she caught her breath.

A lacy black chemise with tiny jet pearls embroidered over the bodice joined stockings on the bed. Nestled in delicate paper beneath she found a matching garter belt.

No panties.

Lord, it was wicked! Absolutely the most wickedly gorgeous lingerie she’d ever seen.

Two boxes left and Chris allowed her imagination to romp naughtily. Perhaps a sheer black cocktail dress, split up either side to the thigh, lacy garters and hose tops peeking coyly through? Or maybe a black leather miniskirt with a next-to-nothing top?

With visions of decadence dancing in her head, Chris pulled off the lid and gasped, amazed to discover a flowing dress, the fabric velvet, the design a collage of vibrant red roses and rich purple irises on a background of black. The hem zigzagged in a scarf effect from knees to mid-calf; the neck was scooped, the see-through sleeves sheared in graceful tatters like flag strips circling a Maypole and cinched at the wrist. Even the sash was a work of art: a length of supple black velvet with a mingling of purple and red silk tassels at the ends.

Holding the dress to her, Chris waltzed to the vanity mirror. It was a magical dress, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. And the woman she saw in the mirror seemed transformed by the magic it worked. Her eyes were Mona
Lisa mysterious and her face had a rare glow, the sort of illuminated flush people had when they were in love.

In love?
Chris shook her head, hard. Given that she most certainly was not in love and had absolutely no intentions of inviting such foolishness, she could only assume that the dress had a good dose of fairy dust sprinkled on it.

Moving quickly from the mirror, she shook out the dress. This was not reality, she sternly reminded herself. It was a waking dream, no more. After all, only in a dream would she open the final package and stare in awe at the contents.

A purple velvet cloak lined in black satin, with a voluminous hood. And a pair of matching ballet slippers. But it was the grace note she found, a single line on a piece of folded paper, that took her breath away.

See yourself as I do—Greg

This was how he saw her? Chris gave in to the luxury of imagining she was worthy of the compliment. An elegant, sensual woman who could inspire such enamored praise from a worldly man like Greg.

The problem was, she was playing a secret fantasy role in the fantasy world they had spun, one that had about as much real substance as cotton candy.

Chris stroked the velvet cloak. What little remained of her prudent nature advised her to return the packages to Greg and explain the gift was deeply appreciated but too expensive to keep. A lot like him.

Still, she couldn’t resist at least trying on the ensemble. Gazing in the mirror, Chris could only think she did see herself as Greg did. At least for now, and now was all that mattered. She’d worry later about accepting such an outrageous gift from a man who brought jelly beans to her little girl and made a woman want more than anything to live happily ever after in a fairy-tale world where cotton candy was meat-and-potatoes real.

I
T WAS A CALCULATED
risk.
Gloves off, screw the rules, he was invading her turf.

Chris wouldn’t like it. At least not initially. Then again, one look at that plane ticket to Lubbock, and she might have tossed it into the trash, then hightailed it back the way she’d come.

But he didn’t think so. If nothing else, she’d make the hour-long flight just to order him off her front porch before the neighbors got curious. Which they already were, judging from the blinds lifting across the street. He was in clear view, the porch-light timer having clicked on shortly before.

Greg waved. Down the blinds went.

The swing that needed a fresh coat of paint creaked in the crisp evening air as he continued to rock easy on the home front; soon to become the front line.

Spying the headlights of the stretch limo he’d assigned pickup duty to, Greg took a deep, bracing breath.

And grimaced. Cow shit. Jeez, how could Chris stand smelling the stuff? He’d lay a thousand to one that the only reason she lived in Lubbock was because she’d met her husband at Texas Tech and his job and family had kept them here.

How…predictable. And safe. A whole grand world awaited and here she was, rutting her life away. Too bad D.C. took three times longer to reach via air; he could’ve gone at this resident turf problem the opposite way.

He watched the back door
fly open a second after the driver put the limo in Park. Yep, those neighbors of hers were getting an eyeful now. The driver getting out, Chris telling him to wait, and, as instructed, the driver taking off despite her frantic “Stop!” followed by a four-letter-word shout that pretty much described the air.

Cloak flowing, Chris looked like a queen marching up the cobblestone walk. A very pissed-off queen, to be exact.

All but stomping her slippered feet over the steps and onto the smooth pine porch, she stopped and glowered down at him, demanding, “What are you doing here?”

“Swinging. Care to join me?” he asked, patting the space beside him.

“No. No, I do
not
care to join you.”

“Then why don’t you ask me in? I’d like to see how the dress fits and it’s a little too chilly to take off the cloak out here. By the way, it looks dynamite.” Actually, so did Chris. Not only was she red-hot gorgeous, she looked about ready to explode. Hooking a thumb across the street, he slyly added, “I’m sure the neighbors agree.”

Ruby lips pinched tight, she promptly rummaged through her purse, cursing softly until she dug out the elusive keys. Jamming one into the front lock, she gave a neat kick when the door stuck to the frame. The bottom needed planing. Greg wondered how many other odd jobs needed to be done around the good widow’s house. He’d take a lot of pleasure in seeing to them. Maybe Jerry would, too.

Just the thought of another man leaving his mark on Chris’s domestic domain had him clenching his jaw. It got tighter when she flicked off the outside light, as if hiding him and her traffic-stopping appearance from view.

“Well?” she said sharply, tapping her foot. “Are you coming in or not?”

In answer, Greg
continued to swing, the metal link’s
creak-creak
piercing the charged silence.

With an exasperated sigh, she huffed her way over.

“So? What is it you want now?”

“Not much, really. Just the same politeness I’m sure you’d extend to any other guest. That is, anyone but me.”

“What did you expect? You came here knowing full well how I felt about—”

“Defiling your home and reputation with my presence?”

“I never said that!”

“No, but the way you’re acting says plenty. You don’t want anything to do with me outside a rented room. I hear ya, Chris. Loud and clear.”

She was quiet for a while. When she spoke, her voice was subdued but not exactly calm. “I think you’re being very unfair about this. We had an understanding, and you’re the one who’s pushing to change the rules that were your idea in the first place. They were smart rules, Greg.”

“I thought so at the time. But I didn’t count on you getting in my head and running roughshod over just about every working organ I’ve got pumping in my body.”

“This is getting too complicated,” she whispered.

Greg noticed she didn’t worry her ring finger despite her obvious distress. He took some consolation from that.

“Yeah, it is getting complicated,” he agreed, getting up. Palms on her shoulders, he stroked the velvet that felt as soothing as Chris did when he buried himself inside her. “Personally, I’d like to simplify things. How about you?”

“No argument here,” she said, pulling away slightly.

Cinching his hold, Greg chose his words carefully. He didn’t want to run her off by coming across as desperate and demanding as he was beginning to feel.

“I want you to acknowledge me. Maybe not as a permanent
fixture. But couldn’t you at least accept us as more than lovers? I consider you a friend, Chris. A very special friend who I care about just as much out of the sack as in. Don’t shut me out just because the sex is good.”

In the moonlight, he could see her tight swallow. Was she hesitating because she knew as well as he did the sex was good—hell, incredible—because of the emotional chemistry they generated? The irony of it was, those emotions she was so afraid of were the very ones that turned her on.

“I…Let’s go inside and talk, okay?”

“Should I take that to mean the welcome mat’s out?”

“For now it is” was her evasive reply.

“Good enough.”
Like hell.
Keeping that last thought to himself, Greg followed her inside. She turned on the overhead entry light, a small stained-glass fixture that gave the foyer a warm, rosy glow.

As she went about lighting up the adjoining living room and smoothing out a vintage shawl draped over a Duncan Phyfe couch covered in aged brocade, Greg smiled. Her home was just as he’d pictured it.

Except for the wedding picture prominently displayed on an old upright piano.

An urge gripped him to smash the frame onto the wood floor and tear the picture into a thousand mangled pieces. Damn, but he’d never felt so threatened before. And jealous. God, he was eaten up with the little green monster. Better get that smile back into place before Chris saw.
Do it,
he ordered himself.
Fast.

His lips straining with the effort, Greg said, “Nice place. It’s got your signature all over it.”

“It’s home. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll see if there’s some wine left in the fridge.”

“I’d rather have hot chocolate if you’ve got some.”

“Hot chocolate? Um…no problem.” Truth was, he wanted Scotch, a stiff one, but cocoa set the mood he was after a lot better.

Chris turned toward
the kitchen and he swiftly came up behind her. She stiffened when he caught her arms.

“Greg, please, I let you in to talk, not to—”

“I just wanted to help you out of your wrap, not get into your pants.”
She didn’t have any panties on.
Just a chemise and a garter belt holding up a pair of silk stockings. Sweet Jesus, he was suddenly so stiff that he hurt. The ache intensified to near agony as she slipped out of the gift he’d taken a gamble she’d accept, and pivoted.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I’ve never owned anything so beautiful. You’re very thoughtful, Greg.”

Thoughtful? He’d let her think so. But the gesture was more selfish than not. He had wanted to dress her with his money, cover her from head to toe as if she were his most prized possession.

“My pleasure. But Chris, you make the dress look great, not the other way around.”

In Chris’s gaze he saw a keen delight mingle with a kindling of arousal. Despite herself, she wanted him. Too bad for them both, he had no intentions of doing more than fanning the flame.

“I’ll go make the chocolate.”

“Want some help?” The quick shake of her head caused him to laugh wryly. “Don’t tell me a man in your kitchen is more intimidating than sharing a toothbrush.”

“In your case, only about double. If I know you, you’d wrestle me for the apron and probably organize my shelves after checking out the magnets on my refrigerator.”

“Got some of Audrey’s artwork displayed, do you?” Her wary expression confirmed it. “Relax. I know better than to push my luck in that direction tonight.”

“Thank God for
small favors,” she muttered, heading toward the kitchen.

Watching the provocative sway of her hips, Greg endured a moment’s masochistic pleasure before turning his attention to setting the trap.

C
HRIS LET GO A SIGH
of relief once she sensed his eyes were no longer devouring her retreating back. In the kitchen she tried to calm herself with the familiar surroundings, touching this and that. All was as she’d left it. And yet, she felt strangely removed, as if she’d departed the owner and returned a back-door visitor.

The milk put on to heat, Chris gripped the tiled countertop’s edge and leaned her forehead against a cabinet door, seeking their inanimate strength.

Finding none there, she smacked her fist against the countertop and paced the kitchen’s length.
Damn him.
Damn Greg for weaseling his way into her home. Hard as it would be to leave behind those places they’d marked as theirs, at least she wouldn’t have constant reminders around her. But she had to come back here, live here, and remember that his physical presence had once filled her home.

Would she ever be able to swing on the front porch again without thinking of him? And would she ever hear the rusty creak of the chain without hearing his plea for friendship, spiked with pride and demand?

He had no right, no right whatsoever to steal the peace she would desperately need once their affair was over. If he’d really wanted to be a friend to her, he wouldn’t have done that, and she didn’t think for a minute that Greg didn’t know exactly what he was doing.

Much as she hated confrontations, they were due one now. At least the memories she’d return home to wouldn’t be sweet or happy or passionate.
Especially
not passionate.
As for the desire he’d already stirred up with no more than a look and a casual touch, she’d just have to deal with it. Anger would help. He’d defused it too easily on the porch; she couldn’t let him do that again.

Chris made hot chocolate for Greg and poured a generous glass of wine for herself. Girded with as much self-righteous temper as she could muster, she strode toward the living room.

Anxiety rose when she saw he’d shut off the lights and turned on the twinkling ones wrapped around the Christmas tree beside him. Crouched in front of the fireplace, he pumped the bellows as if he had every right to make a fire in
her
house with
her
wood, and use
her
tools to change the atmosphere from quaint to intimate and make it their space instead of hers.

“Here’s your hot chocolate,” she said briskly to his shadowed back.

“Thanks, babe.” He looked up with a gaze as warm as the fire he stoked.

“I’m not your ‘babe’ here, Greg. I’m your friend, remember?”

“You don’t sound too friendly to me. Seems I should have elbowed my way into your kitchen, after all.”

“Why not? You elbowed your way into my parents’ house to see Audrey today and bulldozed your way into mine tonight.”

“Taking back the welcome mat, Chris?” He made a
tsk-tsk
sound of disapproval. “That’s no way to treat a friend.”

“I thought about it, Greg. We’re not friends.”

“No?” He stood and accepted the mug she held out. At her soft gasp, he smiled innocently. Her palm tingled where he’d flicked a fingertip before claiming the cup. Taking a sip, he licked his lips and Chris caught herself about to lick hers in response to the movement. “Ah, it’s even better than Mom’s. But don’t tell her I said so. It’d hurt her feelings and I wouldn’t want to do that.”

Chris took a gulp
of wine and immediately wished she’d brought the whole bottle.

“What about
my
feelings, Greg?” she demanded.

“Tell me what they are and I’ll see what I can do about them.”

“I feel violated, that’s what. This is my house and Audrey is my daughter and that’s what I’ve got to come back to in a few days.”

“Don’t you mean
all
you’ve got to come back to? Except for your job and your search for Super Dad, of course.”

“That’s right,” she whispered fiercely. “It’s all I’ve got and the last thing I need is you taking that away.”

“Let me think about this.” He left her standing in front of the fire and sat on the couch facing it, his posture a comfortable lounge. His gaze trained steadily on her, he sipped at his chocolate. “Why don’t you sit with me?” he asked companionably. “Let’s just sit and talk.”

“I don’t want to get that close.”

“Because you don’t trust me or because you don’t trust yourself?”

“If you must know, both.”

“That’s honest and I respect honesty above all else. It’s the thing I prize most about our relationship. Sure, I admit it, I’ve done my best to take advantage when I can, but I’ve been honest about that, too. As for yourself…”

He lingered over another sip and she silently damned him for looking so natural on her couch, for making her feel so ridiculously pleased he liked her hot chocolate better than his mother’s.

“Go ahead and say it,” she challenged. “Say that
I’m a coward who’d rather lie about her feelings than admit them.”

“Actually, I think you’re doing a fine job of expressing yourself. Even if they’re not what I want them to be, I’d rather you expose your gut feelings than hide them from me. But I wish…I wish I understood a lot of things better. Like your choices. Why, Chris,
why
would you rather go back to living a life you told me you hated and wanted to change, when I’m offering you an alternative that—”

“Stop right there.” Chris held up her hand, warding off the seductive lure of his suggestion. “The only alternative is an on-again, off-again affair. When the nights get too lonely, a stolen weekend at some clandestine meeting place before we go back to our separate lives and—”