Love Game (3 page)

“In no better shape than you are now.” When her fragile smile crumbled he felt a triumph he didn’t take much pleasure in. “Look, I’m not happy with the life I’ve got, just satisfied. Sometimes that has to be enough because it’s better than nothing. But to get there, a person has to cut their losses and move on.” Swiveling her wedding ring, he said firmly, “That’s what you have to do, Chris. You’ve got to get rid of this and move on. I’ve been lobbying for a kiss like never before, but ain’t no way that’s gonna happen—not with me or anyone else—until you let go.”

She was silent for a while, staring at her gold band, and then at
him. Quietly she said, “Do you actually think my kissing a man who admits to making a mess of his own life will make mine better?”

“Couldn’t hurt. After all, what do you have to lose?”

Too much when I’ve got nothing as it is.
She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. He could do one of the things he did best—find the path of least resistance and get what he wanted—but he didn’t. Instead, he waited, trying not to hope too much but hoping too much all the same.

When patience became an awkward lapse of words and movement, he decided to stick with what he did better than best: cut his own personal losses and move on.

“Thanks for the lift. See ya…maybe in another eighteen years?” As he reached for the door handle, Greg felt her grip on his arm, her nails biting softly through the heavy layers of winter clothing.

“Stay? Please, Greg. Stay.”

He paused, giving her time to reconsider. The concern she dug up inside him made
him
uncomfortable. Whatever was going on between them was…unusual. As for Chris, the safest thing she could do would be to open the damn door and push him out faster than spit could hit ground.

When he didn’t move, Chris fought a wave of panic. Why didn’t he say something? she wondered. And then she wondered,
Why didn’t she? Say something, do something,
she ordered herself.
For once, take control.

Adrenaline mixing with the rush of anticipation, she pressed her lips to the back of his neck. Her nuzzle was a decision of forward momentum. Flushed with excitement, she took another step with an exploratory flick of her tongue from behind his ear to the starched rim of his dress shirt.

He tasted of ache. Achingly masculine, a composite of the day’s
last traces of cologne, the faint salt flavor of skin diluted by the rain that had brought him here. Here, in a closed car where the sounds of their breathing mingled. His, heavy and deep; hers shallow as he turned and opened his coat, inviting her in.

“Not yet.” Decisively, she raised her left hand, poised between their faces. The moon’s watery light haloed her slow lift of gold. The ring, departing from her finger, felt as fragile as life’s precarious balance, and then, like Mark, it was gone. Chris kissed the band she should have parted with long ago. This she well knew, just as she was aware of a worse folly: She had loved Mark too much, and not even he was worth the price she had paid. Never again would she risk such vulnerability; never would she forfeit the autonomy she now claimed. And with that silent vow, she laced tight her heart.

Her heart was where she slipped the ring, between breast and bra. Greg’s eyes followed the movement and lingered as she began to rebutton her red silk blouse. Pausing there, she decided to leave it undone, exposing a wisp of white lace.

His brow lifted. So did the side of his mouth.

“I’m impressed.” He kissed the satin riding over the swell of her breast. “I’m impressed by this almost as much as I am with what you did. That took some guts, Chris.”

“More than guts.” She tossed his hat onto the dashboard and savored the freedom she claimed in that small act. Pulling him forward by his tie, her grip ate its length until they were separated by a whisper’s distance. “It took you to help me find them.” And then her whisper brushed aside the final barrier. “I want to kiss you.”

“Then do it.”

And do it, she did.

“C
HRIS
? H
ELLO
, anybody in there?”

“Huh?” She’d zoned
out again, Chris realized. So far, she’d escaped a family inquisition as to why she’d been so late getting back the night before. Much more of this and they’d drive her nuts trying to find out what was up. “Sorry, Tammy, what were you saying?”

“Not much. Just that I’m dying my hair purple next week, Rick’s been elected to Congress and Mom’s having an affair with Tom Cruise. When you said, ‘That’s nice,’ I figured I’d lost you.” Topping off their coffee cups at the breakfast nook where they sat, Tammy asked nonchalantly, “So tell me, how does he kiss? After all, it does give a lot of insight into a man’s character. You know, sensitive or aggressive. Both and more if he’s a really special kind of guy.”

Chris chewed on a doughnut, trying to form an answer—more for herself than Tammy. Greg didn’t kiss like he used to, when he’d plowed ahead for a touchdown and dropped the ball where she’d drawn the line. Last night he’d kissed like a man who knew how to get what he wanted from a woman’s mouth and savored every inch of ground they covered together. It had been an intensely personal kiss that went beyond the usual lip-to-lip, slip-of-the-tongue, I’m-out-of-here-unless-you-slip-yours-back sort of predictability.

Nothing had been predictable about that kiss. Not the way he spent
more time on her neck and in her hair than on her mouth. Not the frank way he spoke about how she tasted— “damn good”—or wanting to know how it made her feel when he teethed her nipple between bra and blouse. Apparently “Dear God” hadn’t been answer enough. He’d drawn away then and stroked his chin while she clenched his shirt and gasped for breath. His affectionate peck on the cheek had been the last thing she’d expected. That and his sudden “Let’s sleep on this, Chris. Sweet dreams. Merry Christmas and…good night.”

“How does he kiss? Tell me and we’ll both know,” she finally said. “Look, Tammy, I’m a little confused and I’d like your input. But you have to swear to silence.”

“Gag order, no problem.”

“Not a word, not even to Rick.” At Tammy’s nod, Chris held up her left hand.

“Your ring! You took off your ring!”

“Mark’s dead, Tammy, and he’s not coming back. I’ve known it all along, but I wasn’t willing to accept it.” Glancing out the window, Chris thought how much clearer the sky looked, how much brighter the sun appeared than it had the morning before. The day was too beautiful to weep over a closed coffin. So much time wasted. But no more.
No more.
“I let my life go stale and I’m disgusted with myself for wallowing in the dregs.”

“Wallowing in the dregs?” Tammy repeated. “How can you say that? You’re strong. You’ve survived.”

Chris shook her head. “Going through the motions of living isn’t the same as getting on with life. Greg gave me a taste of life last night and now I’m ready to make up for lost time.”

“This Greg, he must be a special person.”

“He’s special but he’s not for me—or anyone else—in the long run.”

“A confirmed bachelor?”

“Worse! The man’s been
divorced twice and he’s got a teenage daughter who scares the pants off him.”

“A lot of parents don’t know how to handle their kids when they start demanding their space, so he’s not alone there. But the ex-wives? That doesn’t sound so good.”

An unexpected urge to come to Greg’s defense rose up in Chris. But what could she say? That he’d cheated on one wife and after the second marriage didn’t pan out he’d realized he made a lousy husband? She’d found herself wondering about those women. Relationships did take two people to make them work, and Greg’s willingness to assume the blame did count for something. Didn’t it? For some reason, she wanted it to.

“Wives or no wives, he’s only here for a week. Then back he goes to Washington to huddle with his fellow warmongers. And back I go to Lubbock. Playing Mommy, teaching school, and keeping my eye out for a decent daddy who won’t mind ironing his own shirts and eating take-out Chinese. But before I get sensible, I could use a hot date with a hottie.” With a sense of personal victory, she announced, “I’ve decided to ask Greg out for New Year’s Eve. Cool, huh?”

“Not Greg Reynolds, I hope?” Rick said as he entered the kitchen.

Tammy got up and hugged her husband while Chris busied herself by pouring more coffee, intent on ignoring the earful of advice she was sure to get.

“Reynolds was a hell of a football player, should’ve made it with the Cowboys. I’m glad you’re getting out, but don’t forget his reputation for scoring wasn’t limited to the playing field. Maybe he’s changed. Maybe he hasn’t.”

“Yes, brother dear,” Chris simpered. “But may I remind
you that your reputation wasn’t any better before Tammy settled you down. So there.” She stuck out her tongue at him.

“Cute tongue you’ve got, sis. Just be sure to keep it in your mouth when he’s around or you might not get it back.” Rick meowed. “Then again, maybe that’s not such a bad idea. You wouldn’t have it to lash me with—
ooof!
”

Tammy’s punch to his stomach coincided with Chris’s fling of a doughnut. She hit her target: his nose.

“P
HONE
, C
HRISSY
,” Anna called to her daughter. Chris felt her heart speed up and her stomach drop. Forcing herself not to run like a starry-eyed schoolgirl, especially when it was bound to be a relative or a friend or—Who was she kidding?
Please let it be Greg,
she prayed, forgetting she had no faith in prayers. “It’s a man,” her mother whispered.

Yes!
Yes!
“Hello?” she answered, waving Anna away.

“Merry Christmas, Chris.” His voice washed over her and made her feel too good, too young, and all-too-alive. Her palms were wet, her throat was dry. Lord, even her knees were shaking! And her breath—she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Greg, hi! I didn’t expect to hear from you today.”

“I called to find out if the car was picked up.”

Her high spirits immediately sank, reminding her of those days once made or broken with a phone call from Greg. It had been a long time since she’d eaten a quart of ice cream to pick herself up after he’d dropped her. “Yes, they came. We had the pickup guys in for a cup of eggnog. Must be a drag to have to work on Christmas Day.”

“Yeah, it is. I’ve done it a time or ten.” He chuckled then. “Actually, Chris, the car was just an excuse to call. I’ve been thinking about you and I wanted to hear your voice.”

For a moment
her voice was nowhere to be found.

“Chris? You still there?”

“Yes, I—” She laughed at her own foolishness, the delight she took in being foolish for a change. “Know what? I think I’ve got a crush on you again.”

“I know I have one on you. It’s a kick, isn’t it? At least when it’s not being horrible. I’ve been circling this phone for most of the day, telling myself to be cool and not pick it up because then I’d be very uncool and tell you how much I want to see you again. Guess I’m not as cool as I used to be.” And then she heard it. A kiss. A soft, short kiss that sent silver bells ringing. “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a mouth that won’t quit?”

She’d been told she was a good kisser but a mouth that wouldn’t quit, that wasn’t exactly the same. It made her feel, well,
carnal.
Carnal?
Her,
the good widow and hovering mother,
carnal?
It gave her the strangest sensation, like peeking into an open bedroom and witnessing an act of mindless sex. Knowing she should move away but too mesmerized, too aroused by the view to leave. And then, the shocking realization that the woman writhing on the bed was her. She, the intruder merely watching herself from a distance.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” Chris suddenly asked.

“As of now, I am. Can you be ready by seven?”

A vision of Audrey looking Greg up and down, then asking, “Are you going to be my new daddy?” sent Chris scrambling for an out. “Since you don’t have a car I’ll pick you up.”

“No need. I’ll borrow the keys from Dad.” Laughing, he added, “Maybe he’ll slip me a twenty after Mom reminds me not to show off behind the wheel and to be home by midnight.”

Moments later Chris stared at the cradled receiver. Apprehension swirled in the pit of her stomach. Excitement, smacking of a delicious, dangerous risk, stole away any desire for dinner. It was an oddly nostalgic moment, reminding her of the horrible, wonderful effect hormones could have on appetite.

She wanted to be
alone. Curled up in bed, painting her toenails to the tunes from a classic rock station, nirvana.

“Who was that man calling you?”

Chris managed a stiff shrug for her mother and a casual “Oh, it was just Greg. We’re going out tomorrow night. You won’t mind watching Audrey, will you? Maybe you could even take her to McDonald’s while I’m getting ready.”
And please, take the rest of the troop with you. Big Macs all around, my treat. Just don’t show your faces until I’m gone.

“Why, Chrissy, a date with your old boyfriend! Where are you going, honey? Are you nervous, excited—”

“Really, Mom, it’s no big deal. Pass the word?” Chris pecked her cheek and headed for the bedroom that still had cheerleading pom-poms tacked next to a high school pennant.

Door closed, she went straight for the closet.

What did she have to wear? Nothing too great. She’d hit a mall first thing in the morning. Her hair needed trimming, but a fresh wash and blow-dry would have to do. Fingernails? She could use a manicure….

G
REG CHECKED HIS WATCH
. Ten minutes early. Should’ve driven around, checked out the old stompin’ ground. Alone.
Jeez, what was he doing here?
Sitting in her driveway—better check his watch again. CD, which CD?

Let’s see.
The Best of Heart
…
Journey’s Greatest Hits
…
100 Groovin’ Oldies
—better shove that one back in the glove compartment, too nerdy to shell out $18.88 for a late night TV pitch aimed at those of a certain age.

Ah, Norah Jones
Come Away With Me.
Slip it in…check the watch—
What the hell was he doing here?
Feeling like some green kid worried about getting a good-night kiss while he worked up the nerve to knock on a door, sling back his front hair and say, coolly of course, “Hi, ready to roll?”

Like he still had the hair to sling back. Checking his image in the rearview mirror, Greg suddenly laughed.
Aw, man, you oughta be sweatin’ bullets. What’d you think this was, a date for dinner? Uh-huh, sure. That’s why you flipped a coin when you couldn’t decide between white briefs and black boxers. Why you just happen to have a rubber stashed under the front seat.

Poor Chris. He never should have called her, never should have kissed her. That kiss, it wasn’t just a kiss, and he had no business messing with a woman who put so much gut emotion into a kiss.

Leaning back, he considered that kiss, the reason he was really here. Simple. She’d been needy and he’d eaten it up.

Long time since he’d felt needed for more than balls on a battlefield—be it for country or in a bed. Well, he slept alone mostly. What with being a little needy himself, recreational sex just didn’t cut it anymore. Pity he’d lost his appetite for it—about the time his hair began its slow but noticeable retreat. Funny, he thought, how a man’s priorities could rearrange themselves when his body started doing the same.

Sex.
He loved it. The sounds, the smell of it, the way a woman
tasted, how she looked when she came. The sweat, the fit, even the awkwardness of trying to find the right fit with an unfamiliar body. But screwing, it wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted a woman with character, class, lots of nooks and crannies upstairs. Someone who knew how to laugh and live for the moment because tomorrow was tomorrow and demands weren’t part of the bargain.

Poor Chris. She deserved better than the best he had to offer. Damn, but he wished that he didn’t like her; even worse, he respected her. She was the kind of woman who would win a whistle and keep walking without so much as a turn of her head. Bad luck—she’d turned his.

Getting out of the sedan, Greg leaned against the door and waited for the cold air to work against nature. Amazing that Chris could still do it to him at his age. Then again, maybe not. From what he’d seen so far, she was like a vintage wine: the blush, a deeper shade of pale; the crisp flavor, more mellow and rich; a bouquet that was meant to be savored.

Yeah, she’d go down easy.

“S
TAY PUT
, I
’LL GET IT
!” Purse in hand, Chris rushed to the door on ready. And then she wasn’t ready at all.

She’d always felt creepy about men who looked a woman up and down—but judging from Greg’s lazy smile, he didn’t mind a bit when she surveyed him. Two nights ago he’d looked good, even plane-rumpled and tired. But freshly shaven and dressed in a soft white sweater with pressed jeans, Greg was
mur
-der. The bushy poinsettia with a fat red bow and the easy confidence of his stance as he held it out proved the real killer.

Dying had never been so sweet.

“Why, Greg, how thoughtful of you.”

“Think your mother will like it?” She hadn’t planned on inviting him in, but in he came anyway. “It’s a little thank-you to your folks for lending me their driveway and a big suck-up in advance—just in case I get you home past curfew.”

Chris set the plant on the hall table and was trying to figure out how to make them scarce without seeming rude when Rick made his entrance.

“Hey, Greg
Reynolds, good to see you.” The two men shook hands and she noticed it lasted longer and they gripped harder than a friendly greeting would dictate. “Chris says you’re one of a few good men these days. What’s your rank?”

Chris gritted her teeth. Credentials, intentions, warnings with a handshake. Less than a minute and Greg was getting grilled before they could take off for a simple date.

“Major, as of last month. You’re Rick, right?”

“That’s me. You’ve come a long way since skirmishes on the twenty-yard line. Chris says you’ve been assigned to the Pentagon. That’s quite a coup, isn’t it?”