Perfect Summer (26 page)

After opening the door only wide enough for her to squeeze through, Summer stepped into the backyard. A whimpering moan drifted in the open door as claws ripped through material.

“Bad kitty.” She sounded convincing. “You leave that poor man alone.”

The scraping stopped. Summer discreetly set down the bowl behind a potted plant and walked—not rushed—to the fetal, prone photographer.

“Sorry about my neighbor’s cat, He doesn’t like strangers in my backyard.” Summer grabbed an arm and helped the man up. As the photographer struggled to stand, she turned her back to him, pulled out the memory card in his camera, and closed the little hatch. “Here you go.”

Damn, she was good. Nothing got past her.

Clint glanced at El Diablo. The cat sipped his cream but kept both eyes trained on the photographer like a double-barrel shotgun. Instantly, Clint became a cat person.

“Normally, I would take you in my house, but we’d have to pass El Diablo, and we both know that’s not a good idea.” Summer walked the photographer to the side yard and presumably out a gate.

A minute later, she stepped onto the back porch and knelt next to the cat. “Good job.”

She held her fist out to the cat for a bump. Damn if the cat didn’t knock her hand. El Diablo turned his head and looked Clint up and down.

“That’s Clint. Be nice.” Slowly, she got to her feet and held a hand out to Clint. “Come meet the mighty El Diablo.”

The black cat was on the scrawny side, but his green eyes were huge and worldly.

Clint stepped onto the porch, careful not to make any jerky movements. He leaned down and held his hand out palm down as he would with a dog.

El Diablo arched a haughty eye, regarding Clint like he was a couple of rungs down on the evolutionary ladder, and turned back to the cream. Introduction over.

Clint slipped his arm around Summer. “Think the man will sue?”

“Not once he learns the cat’s owner is the sister of a federal court judge. There isn’t an attorney in the state who wants to take on the Honorable Charles Nolan-Miller. Piss off a judge with a lifetime appointment and you have to move out of the country.” Summer patted his hand. “I don't think we can wait any longer.”

The four cinnamon rolls in his stomach turned to boulders, sweat broke out on his upper lip and palms, and a day's worth of spit flooded his mouth. His heart stepped on the gas, making his pulse skyrocket.

He could do this. There was no way he was falling apart in front of Summer...again. He turned his focus to her. She needed protecting. She had no idea what the media would do to her life. Since she wouldn't take this seriously, he'd have to step up the diligence for both of them. As he concentrated on her, his heart rate calmed, and his stomach settled.

Summer glanced at his face. “That bad?”

“Not anymore.” And it wasn't.

“Tell you what, if we make it through this morning and evening unscathed, I'll let you see me naked.” Summer swallowed. “Lights on and everything.”

She turned the color of chalk, but she didn’t look away. “That way we both have to face our worst nightmare.”

“While I would give anything to see every square inch of you minus clothes, I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” His voice cracked, and he was salivating for a different reason. The suggestion that he might get to see all of her shouldn’t make him hard as a rock, but he put his hand in front of his pants to hide the bulge.

Once he got the image of her out of his head, her words finally registered. “Worst nightmare? Why?”

Summer stepped out of his embrace, walked to the pantry, and pulled out a stack of plates. She slapped out a row of them and scooped a cinnamon roll on each. “He made fun of me.” She swallowed again. “You know...because I'm fat.”

Her voice was hard, but her eyes were wounded and her shoulders rounded—like when he'd seen her talking to Jack.

That son of a bitch. Until now, Clint had always thought the old practice of drawing and quartering a man was overkill, but in Jack's case it seemed just about right.

“You aren't fat, you’re curvy.” Clint really wanted to hit someone, preferably a certain Assistant District Attorney. “Curvy is good.”

“When we walk outside my front door, every person out there will be thinking, ‘What's he doing with her?’” Summer wouldn't look at him. She kept on slapping cinnamon rolls on plates.

Clint wanted her to understand how special she was. “Look at me.” He waited for her to turn around.

There was some sniffling, and her hands fluttered across her cheeks, wiping away tears. If he were a knight, he'd gladly battle her dragons, but he was just a man, and her demons lurked deep inside her mind.

A light went off in his brain. She was offering him more than equal ground on the field of embarrassment. She was offering up herself for approval because she cared what he thought. For him, she'd taken the blame for yesterday and was willing to sacrifice her pride and endure ridicule, but she wanted his approval.

How could he make her see that she already had it?

“When we walk outside, the women will be eyeing up your chest wondering who your plastic surgeon is and the men will be eye-fucking you ten different ways.” He hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up so he could look her directly in the eye. “I promised I wouldn't lie, and I haven't. Why would I start now?”

“I want so badly to believe you but—”

“Then shut up and nod.” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “You should be feeling pretty satisfied right now.”

“Why?”

He pointed to the front of his jeans. “I have to walk around with this while I watch every man out there picturing you naked.”

Summer stiffened her spine, swallowed her tears, and made herself smile. “But you get to see me naked.”

Clint was proud of her because her voice didn't shake too much. She had courage. No one could call her a coward. The next hour would prove whether the same could be said about him.

Her eyes went to the front of his pants. “Too bad we don't have time to take care of that.”

“Babe, it's the off-season, I got nothing but time.” He pulled her into a tight hug.

“Huge endorsement deal...remember?” Her smile turned wicked. “I liked it when you told me what you planned to do to me. Shall I do the same?”

She linked her fingers through his, drew his hand to her mouth, and sucked on his index finger. Her gaze held his, and what he saw smoldering in those dark blue eyes made the high school slut look like a tease.

“I need an ice bath because a cold shower won't cut it.” Clint took a deep breath and tunneled his fingers through his hair. “Let's get 'breakfast with the reporters’ over with. I think that I’ve finally found the cure for panic attacks…being horny. It kicks panic’s ass every time. I’ve been going about it the wrong way.”

And he’d never had Summer before.

“Stay behind me. I'll field the questions. You nod and look pretty.” Summer handed him a tray filled with paper cups brimming with espresso. Come hell or high water, she wouldn't leave Clint’s side. This would be the easiest interview he'd ever done.

“Uh huh.” His reply was monotone.

She hefted a tray holding the cinnamon rolls and stepped in front of him. “You chime in anytime you want or ignore the reporters altogether. Whatever works for you.”

“Uh huh.”

“Let's start on the left and work our way right.” She rolled her shoulders. “Stan will be out in a few minutes to help serve. No one can work a crowd like Stan.”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you listening to me?” Summer glanced over her shoulder.

“No, ma'am. I've been looking down the V of your tee shirt.” Clint didn't even try to sound apologetic. “And if I play my cards right, I get to see your breasts.”

He sounded like a ten-year-old:
If I eat all my green vegetables, I get to play Xbox
.

Summer felt her smile droop around the edges. In his world, she wasn’t a brand new toy but an oddity—the fruitcake in a basket of gourmet artisan cheeses. Once the smoked Gouda and Brie were gone, the fruitcake would be a two-pointer in the nearest trashcan.

Clint was too noble to callously throw her away, so one day he’d stop returning her phone calls, and she’d see a picture of him smiling down at some gorgeous starlet, and that would be that.

The thought didn’t make her sad so much as empty. When Jack had left, she’d only been embarrassed and…relieved. There hadn’t been a hole. With Clint, there was definite hole potential—Grand Canyon-sized.

She bit the inside of her cheek until her eyes watered but kept her smile in place. For the next hour or so, she’d be the happiest damn person in Austin. She’d save her introspection until after the cinnamon rolls.

“In case I forget to say it later…” Clint put his hand on the front doorknob. “Thanks.”

She glanced back at him. “For what?”

“Being you.” His green eyes wandered around her face. “No one else could have pulled this off. You’re perfect.”

The unconditional approval shining in his eyes was an ice pack on her battered ego. Her tongue peanut buttered to the roof of her mouth, so she nodded and looked away. More than anything in the world, she wanted to believe that she meant something to Clint, but she couldn’t take the leap of faith or she’d fall on her face and break her heart.

On a deep breath, he opened the door.

Cameras popped like popcorn in a kettle, and lights on video cameras beamed down like magnifying glasses spotlighting ants. Wisteria Lane had nothing on the drama playing out in her front yard.

“How long have you been dating?”

“Were you together before?”

“How serious are you two?”

Questions shot past her like bullets looking for a bull’s-eye.

Summer blinked a couple of times, stepped onto her front porch, and said, “Clint thought you might be hungry. Won’t you join us for breakfast?”

Just as she would do with her students, she didn’t raise her voice. She waited for the chaos to calm and repeated, “Clint thought you might be hungry. Homemade cinnamon rolls and fresh espresso for everyone.”

A pack of half-starved hyenas looked like lazy slackers next to these folks.

“Back. Give the lady some space.” Clint’s voice was fierce as he stepped in front of her. Here was the all-business quarterback who’d led his team to the Super Bowl. He turned his attention to the man she’d thrown out of her backyard. “Bother my girlfriend again, and I’ll forget that I’m a nice guy.”

She was Clint’s girlfriend. Summer smiled to herself. The nagging feeling she should turn around just to make sure a supermodel hadn’t snuck up behind her was there, but it wasn’t as strong as it would have been yesterday.

“Think we’ll get one of those cool media names like Brangelina?” Summer’s whole body smiled. She was Clint’s girlfriend.

“We could be Slint or Clummer…” His face pinched up like he’d done a shot of vinegar. “Maybe not.”

She rammed a plate in the direction of the photographer from her backyard.

“Enjoy.” It was an order, not a request.

The mousy girl from Jade Harold’s entourage smiled and took the plate from Summer’s hand. "What's it like to be Clint Grayson's girlfriend?"

Since Summer had only had five seconds of experience at it, nothing came to mind.

Clint nodded to The Mouse and put a possessive hand on Summer’s shoulder. “She’s very private and…Lisa, isn’t it? I asked Summer out three times before she said yes.”

"Really?" The Mouse's brown eyes brightened.

When had he asked her out? She didn't remember him asking her out. He was playing to the cameras.

"Two lunches and a dinner. I finally just invited myself over to her house. Some women have hard-to-get down to a science." Clint was all charm, and there wasn't a trace of sarcasm. "It's her mouth. I love to look at it."

He handed a photographer in a black polo shirt an espresso.

Black Shirt nodded. "Angelina Jolie has nothing on her." He stared at her mouth, nodded some more, and massaged her body with his eyes. "Lucky you."

He fist-bumped Clint.

"You have no idea." Clint’s tone suggested that if the man ever found out, Clint would remove his eyeballs with a spoon.

Summer leaned over and whispered next to Clint’s ear. “Was I just eye-fucked?”

“About four different ways,” Clint bit out. “See that man standing by the ABC news van, smoking?”

Summer followed his line of sight. “Yes.”

“He’s having shower sex with you right now.” Clint sounded like he was trying his best to control himself. It wasn’t anxiety but anger twisting his face. What was his deal?

“Is that all men think about?”

“Nope, occasionally we think about food and boobs.” He cracked a smile. “Right now, I’m thinking about all three.”

“Multitasking—does it make your brain hurt?” Summer handed out two more plates. So far, her plan was working. Everyone was too busy eating to remember they had jobs. She glanced at Cigarette Man. He was watching Clint.

“I think you’re wrong about the man by the van, it’s not me he’s mentally sudsing up. You’re a soap drop away from true love.” Summer grinned. “Mr. September, I think you’ve found your Mr. October.”

“Summer, so good to see you again.” Jade stepped in front of Summer and did a half-hug-pat thing like they were long-lost college roommates. “Clint, how’s it feel to be dating another heiress? Summer makes your last one look like a panhandler.”

Summer’s blood turned to ice, and the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. Her private life was no one’s business but her own. And she hadn’t told Clint. No one except her mother knew about her trust fund because her father had been careful to insulate her from gold diggers who only cared about her dollar signs. He’d known a little something about that.

Her eyes went to Clint’s face. Confusion and not anger played across his features.

This wasn’t the time or the place to air her solid platinum laundry. Instead, she went with sarcasm.

“Yep.” She threw her arms up like it was a surprise party and he was the birthday boy. “I’m really rich. I live a modest life because I’m eccentric.”