Love Game (6 page)

“I have to think about this,” she finally said.

“Fair enough. You’ve got a phone book. Use it when you decide you’re ready to move on.”

“C
ALL ME
.” Greg
kissed her cheek beneath the front-porch light. He waited until she’d passed through the unlocked door before returning to the car. There, he gave a short wave.

Chris watched until the taillights disappeared, still unsure if she would see him again.

Passing through the hallway she heard her father’s snore from an open door, then low murmurs from the bedroom Rick and Tammy shared. Chris’s smile held a bit of a smirk. For once, they weren’t the only ones with a private agenda.

Her knees were still shaking. Wanting a man who thrilled her with a whisper of “You’re poison, baby” was dangerous for a woman who’d always believed in commitment before sex. This time there would be no commitment, and she still wanted the sex. Passing her finger through a candle flame was one thing; walking into a bonfire was a good way to get burned.

Changed into her flannel pajamas, Chris sat on the edge of her old bed and stroked Audrey’s hair. This was her ultimate responsibility. This child who had kept her going when she’d wanted to give up. A little girl who prayed for a daddy she didn’t have.

“Maybe in a couple of years. I’ll hold out for the best, when it comes to you,” Chris whispered to the tight ball hugging a Barbie doll. Though Greg wasn’t in the running for future dad, he’d proved a real ace when it came to a child’s whimsy. Slipping the note he’d suggested under Audrey’s pillow, Chris was certain a mother-daughter date for the skating rink and a bunch of quarters for video games was a super-good surprise.

The possibility of
a movie and popcorn she’d left out. After all, she might still be foolish enough to dial the number she didn’t need a phone book to recall.

“Y
OU’RE DOING IT AGAIN
,” Tammy observed.

“What?” Chris drummed her fingers on the breakfast-nook table while she eyed the kitchen wall phone she’d monopolized as a teen. And now, here she was, an adult visiting her parents, afraid to go near the thing lest she use it.

“
That.
Are you expecting a call?”

“Yes—no.” She’d hoped for one to nudge her decision. Clearly, Greg had meant it when he’d put the ball in her court. More than in her court, the damn thing was pinging around her brain like a pinball machine stuck on automatic return. Even in her sleep she’d been betwixt erogenous replays and half-awake glimpses of Audrey’s trusting face on the next pillow.

Chris looked at her watch: Six-thirty and counting. If she counted much longer they’d lose one night out of five that couldn’t be recaptured. If she could just keep counting, he’d be gone and so would she. She’d pack Audrey up and head for Lubbock with morals and pride firmly intact, an untainted woman, suitable for a man looking for more than a hot fling.

No expectations, nothing to lose, the field wide open—between our legs and…

“Chris, are you feeling all right?”

“Huh? Oh, sure, I’m fine. Why?”

“Nothing, just that noise you made. Kind of a…groan?”

Between our legs
and in the mind…
Six thirty-three.
I’d never want you to do something you didn’t enjoy…. I want to make love to you, very nice, very slow and easy….

“You’re sure the leftover ham didn’t upset your stomach?”

I have an appetite that hasn’t been fed in some time….

“Or maybe it’s the flu. You look so flushed and—Why don’t you go to bed and get some rest?”

A vision of Greg in bed didn’t provoke thoughts of rest. One call and…And what if she couldn’t face the mirror in the morning? She could bail out, some the wiser for her bad judgment, couldn’t she? And at least she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life wondering what discoveries she might have missed.
You need it. You want it.

She was taking the risk.

“Think you could help Mom watch Audrey tonight?”

“No problem. Are you going to lie down?”

“Not here.” Rising, Chris put a finger to the secretive smile framing her lips.

“Are you sure about this?” Tammy stroked her stomach like a worry stone, but the smile she returned was intrigued.

“I need some memories, Tammy.” The previous night’s images continued to barrel through her brain and shoot down to her belly, pulling it tighter than a piano wire. The chord it struck rippled into a crescendo, giving a quiet passion to her voice. “I need new memories to compete with the old ones that I’ve let hold me back.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Go for it.” Tammy gave her a thumbs-up as Chris headed for the phone.

Not giving herself time to hesitate, she dialed. On the fifth ring Chris silently damned herself for assuming Greg was sitting by the phone, waiting for her call.

“Hello?” he answered, out of breath.

“It’s me. I was afraid you weren’t at home.”

“And I was
afraid I’d miss your call while I jogged off almost a day’s worth of pacing the floor.”

Taking heart that there was at least one man who babysat the phone, she said clearly, “I’m ready, Greg. Ready to move on.”

An hour later she turned from his side at the car to wave. From the front door, Audrey waved back, looking curious, confused. And hopeful.

The next one’s for you, daughter. But this one’s for me.

“Y
OU DON’T
WASTE ANY
time, do you?”

“No time to waste.” Greg’s grin was cagey as he watched Chris’s foot tap against the thick carpeting—high dollar, in keeping with the posh lobby, which she apparently found preferable to look at than him while they waited for the elevator.

The doors slid open but she didn’t move. When her hand shot out to catch the closing metal, Greg breathed a sigh of relief. Though they were alone, Chris stared at the escalating numbers until they reached the top floor. He noticed she seemed to flounce her way beside him as they strode down the gold-sconced corridor.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re a little irked?”

“Maybe because I am. I thought we’d slide into this instead of me feeling like a call girl who phoned up her john.”

Greg subdued a chuckle. Enjoying himself at Chris’s expense wasn’t really fair, but he wasn’t above making her sweat after she’d kept him sweating all day.

Wanting her to verify her decision in no uncertain terms, he tapped the electronic entry card against the door where they stood. “Sure you’re ready? You can still back out.”

Chris grabbed the plastic and shoved it into the slot. At the sound of a buzzer, she thrust the door open.

“Wait.” He tossed a light bag through the doorway, then scooped her up. Carrying her over the threshold, he realized how fragile she felt in his arms. The dress she wore was designed for a leggy, thin frame that could use the illusion of an extra ten pounds. Maybe he should have fed her first. Better yet, room service; they could feed each other.

The door closed
and he heard the catch of her breath in the dark. The effect it had on him wasn’t to his liking, making him want to ease the apprehension he suddenly felt badly for creating.

“You think we’re here so I can get a piece—no champagne, no flowers, lie on your back and spread ’em, let’s do it so we can do it again before the clock strikes twelve—right?”

“Aren’t we?”

Greg slid her down his length. He could feel her trembling and it touched a soft chord inside him, damn her. And damn her some more for shaking even harder as he turned her in his arms and pressed his hardness against her belly.

“If you’re so nervous about being here with me, why aren’t you making tracks to one of those taxis outside? It’s not too late. In fact, I’ll even pay your fare.”

Her arms were slow to come around his waist but once there, she clung tighter than a miser to his last dime.

“It’s not you, Greg—it’s me. I
do
want to be here. Just give me a minute to get my bearings.”

“A minute? Take an hour, take the whole night. I’m in no rush unless you are.”

Her shivering stilled. “Then why are we here?”

“A piece of action, Chris, isn’t simply permission and submission. That won’t cut it with me. Nothing’s going to happen unless you’re in heat.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” There was an edge of indignation in her tone and he was glad to hear the spark.

“It means you have to want me enough to light
my
fire. You’re not an easy lay. These days, neither am I.”
Her off-the-shoulder dress gave him access to her collarbone. Lips pressed into the indentation of soft flesh, he murmured, “When you can’t get my clothes off fast enough, when you can throw out every inhibition and feel good about it,
then
we can move on. The first move has to come from you.”

“You’re asking for a lot.”

“Yeah, I am. No shutters, no limits, adults only and regrets not allowed. Those are my terms and you might as well know that I’m not one for compromise.” When she stiffened slightly, he asked, “Remember what we agreed we missed most during the holidays?”

“The privacy of our own homes. Some room to breathe.”

“I didn’t give you a Christmas present. Consider this a belated one for us both.” He flicked on the lights. Her gasp of delight made the trouble he’d gone to well worth the effort. Greg watched her lean over the entry table where two dozen roses bloomed in rainbow hues. “I never send flowers if I think they’re expected. So I’ll know next time you least expect them, what’s your favorite color?”

“Yellow. Purple. Red. Any of them! All of them!
Flowers
.” She sighed. “It’s been so long—thank you, Greg.”

The hint of moistness she blinked away squeezed something inside him.
Not the heart, can’t be the heart.

“Glad you like them,” he replied gruffly. “Go on, kick off your shoes, make yourself at home. No need to be polite or watch what you say. Wanna strut around naked? Be my guest.”

Her lilting laughter as she flung both shoes away accompanied a soft
thudding sensation in the region of his solar plexus. It grew louder, harder to ignore, as he helped her out of her coat, then louder still as he hung his herringbone jacket next to her gray wool in the entry closet. Staring at the hard wooden hangers, companionably nestled side by side, he jerked them to opposite ends. Jaw clenched, he hooked an arm around her shoulder and led them to the kitchen.

“High on style, low on function. But it comes with a microwave and I happened to bring along the popcorn. Not theater fresh, but it’ll do. As for the movie, if you don’t like what’s showing on pay-per-view, the management told me they have a load of DVDs to choose from.” His kiss was short but not too sweet. Sweet was dangerous, a lowering of defenses he couldn’t afford. Chris was too sweet, that was the problem; but once she cut loose and quit being such a good girl, he’d be fine. “Still irked?”

“Are you kidding? This is great!”

“Let’s check out the rest.” In the bedroom, a big mahogany poster bed with a lace coverlet was the centerpiece of the inviting antique decor. The bottle he’d ordered was snuggled in a silver ice bucket and positioned where he’d requested it: in the middle of the bed.

“Champagne! And look, pink flowers painted on the glass! This is marvelous, Greg, just marvelous.”

Did she have to sound so ecstatic about the very things he’d hoped would impress her even half this much? Ah, hell, he’d milk it while he could and impress her some more.

“Perrier-Jouet, 1995. France. Not their best year, but it’ll do.” He grabbed the bottle and offered it to her flung-out, I-don’t-believe-this arms. “A tiny region in France thought up champagne and after spending some time there, I don’t think much of impostors.” Rolling up his sleeves, he turned his attention to a cheval mirror angled in the corner.

Covertly he watched her as she traced the hand-painted glass, green
against a ruby nail—sliding it against the trickling moisture and making his testes ache for her palming, the light flick of her nails searching, moving, pressing…. Tearing his gaze from the mirror, Greg silently counted to ten, then turned to face her, still unsure if he was capable of vocalizing more than a succession of groans.

“Want me to order up some caviar and chocolate-dipped strawberries?”

“And spoil dinner? Popcorn and champagne, sounds like a feast to me.” He coveted the fine arch of her neck as she threw back her head and laughed joyously. “Greg Reynolds, where have you been all my life?”

“The Middle East. Russia. Thailand. Europe. You name it, I’ve been there. But if I could choose any place in the world, this is where I’d want to be.” Fishing a coin out of his pocket, he brushed his erection and winced. “Let’s try out the bed.” He made a hard toss on the mattress. “Didn’t bounce. But I’ll forego demerits if the sheets are extra crisp and clean.”

“Should we turn down the covers and find out?”

“If we did that, they wouldn’t be too crisp and clean by the time we crawled away.” When she bit her bottom lip, he lifted two crystal flutes from the nightstand and pinged rims. “It’s your call. Flop on the bed while I spring the cork or get your butt out of here before I start talking dirty.”

“Don’t forget your quarter,” Chris said over her shoulder as she made for the door. “You might need it later for a tip on the pillow.”

The coin he left behind for good luck but he brought the glasses along. He settled them by the champagne she had placed on the mantel, above the gas logs that he turned on in the hearth. Amply realistic, the fireplace was a nice touch, set a cozy mood.

Chris stood at the picture window, surveying the vista of headlights far below.

“They look like
stars on a clear, black night.”

“Damn pretty sight.” And he didn’t mean the skyline.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. The touch of his broad palm tightening on her waist made her feel utterly feminine and deliciously warm. Pivoting, she laid her hands on his chest and leaned her forehead against his silk tie. Was she really here? Wooed with champagne and flowers by this mysterious man.

Finger to chin, he tipped up her face and kissed her softly, deeply—a kiss he spiked with a taste of demand. It left her feeling a little woozy.

“This doesn’t seem real.”

“Believe me,” he assured her with a gentle bump, “this is as real as it gets.”

His smile, that trademark naughty-nice flash of his teeth, should be illegal, she thought. It simply wasn’t fair for any man to be able to turn a woman on with an easy half-twist of his lips. Staring at them, she wondered how many women had fallen victim to their lure. It bothered her to think of herself as the latest number in a long line of predecessors. And so, she tried not to think it.

“What I mean is, for our lives to go in such different directions and wind up here. It’s too crazy. I keep expecting to wake up and realize I dreamed the whole thing.”

“Does that mean you’d look on the next pillow and wonder why
I
wasn’t in bed?”

His reference to her painful confession caused her to step back. He bridged the slight distance with a firm grip on the hand she’d laid over her heart. Pulling her to him, he stroked her arms, warming their sudden chill.

“Supposing you did,” he went on. “I can only hope you’d wish I had been more than a dream.”

No dream, this. Greg was a wild card and his squeeze of her buttocks was more than a reshuffling of the deck.
With his soft bite to her earlobe, his murmur that the next move was hers, Chris felt she was playing fifty-two-card pickup.

“What are you in the mood for? I mean, what kind of movies do you like?” Breaking away, she hoped her lunge for the movie guide didn’t look as frantic as it was. “Let’s see, what shows do they have that won’t hit the video stores for another month?” Flipping past the Adults Only section, she tapped an action-adventure flick. “How’s this?”

“I got enough of that on the job to last me a lifetime. No thanks.” His gaze distant, he was staring out the window gathering wool. Chris had the feeling she was the wool. A quick embarrassment for her skittish reaction caused her to toss aside the movie guide.

She touched his fist, pressed against the glass.

“Tell you what, Greg. Why don’t we forget about the movie? I can channel surf while you make the popcorn—or vice versa.”

The gaze he turned on her was incisive, challenging her precarious composure. He studied her awhile—long enough that Chris was torn between telling him to bring the popcorn into the bedroom and making a mad rush out the door, grabbing the flowers on her way.

“Two televisions,” he finally said. “You know where they are. Decide which one you’d rather watch and I’ll meet you there.”