Perfect Summer (28 page)

She’d showered Summer with all the material things Lilly had never had, but they’d been empty and cold…. She’d been empty and cold. Regret punched her in the heart. Her baby girl didn’t have the good memories or experiences that Lilly had with her parents. Baby Henry would have love and laughter and nothing but happiness.

Lillian Summerville Ames finally let go of her perfect world, admitted she hated it, and became Lilly full time.

When was the last time she had enjoyed anything?

Davis. He'd been the only thing she'd loved about her life…her old life, only she'd made sure that he wasn't really a part of it.

"Oh, Baby Henry, how do I fix this?"

No urgent need for a red gummy bear rocketed through her. It looked like he didn't know either.

***

Four hours later, Clint knocked on Summer’s front door, shuffled the bouquet of flowers to his other hand, and then breathed into his palm, checking for minty freshness. He’d left her in Bono’s capable hands because Clint wanted her transformation to be a surprise.

Preparing for their first official date, he’d taken extra time on his hair, tried on and discarded several suits, and finally decided on his best Armani tux because he wanted to look nice for her. Apart from the occasional comment on his general handsomeness, she hadn’t admired him. Not that Clint needed compliments to validate his self-image, but other than his looks, charming personality, prowess on the football fields, and the ability to make one incredible cup of espresso, he really didn’t have much to offer her.

Good God, he hoped she hadn’t noticed.

The desire to impress her had prompted the stop-off for the flowers and the exaggerated primping, but the nervous anticipation zipping through his system right now belonged to something deeper that had made him miss her in the few hours since he’d left her side. Summer calmed him, and he was at his best when he was around her.

Had Bono changed her too much? He liked the old Summer. He grinned. Her sexy mouth, sassy tee shirts, and floppy jeans—that was how he thought of her—she was real, nothing manufactured. She was exactly who she said she was…except for the inheritance thing. But Summer lived modestly, and she’d explained the money away. He’d believed her because she had no motivation to lie. Speaking of motives, all of hers were pure. Were his?

Clint knocked again.

He practically vibrated with the need to see her. He would try to like the new Summer, but the goal was for her to like herself. More than anything, he wanted Summer to see herself the way he saw her…perfect.

She’d probably had the time of her life this afternoon. Every woman he’d ever dated had loved when he’d sent them away for a spa day. And this was almost the same thing. Clint nodded to himself. After the ball, he’d let her show all the appreciation she felt. Yep, he was pretty sure that he could leap tall buildings in a single bound without breaking a sweat.

The door swung open, and there she was.

Clint’s jaw dropped to his knees, and the flowers he’d been holding fell to the ground, bouncing off his shoe. Summer’s once-curly hair had been straightened to a long, golden waterfall, her makeup accentuated her blue eyes, and the strapless, little black dress…what little of it there was… barely covered her chest and clung to her like a second skin. Give her a pair of bunny ears and a black bow tie and Hugh Hefner would slap her on the cover of next month’s
Playboy
.

Summer Ames was a hottie—inside and out. Standing before him, she was everything he’d wanted for her.

Clint absolutely hated it.

He wiped the disappointment off his face as he picked up the flowers.

“These are for you.” He offered the bouquet to her.

“You don’t like it.” Summer chewed on her bottom lip. “I did everything they told me to. Sorry there wasn’t more to work with.”

She smiled sadly and took the flowers. “Thanks.”

She brought the bouquet to her nose and inhaled deeply. “I love flowers. Why don’t you stumble with me into the kitchen so I can put them in some water?”

She sounded so unsure of herself. He could learn to like the new Summer…for her.

Summer teetered on the highest black heels he’d ever seen. They made her legs look a mile long, but he missed the tennis shoes, tee shirts, and jeans. Wondering what was under those baggy clothes had been half the fun—now the whole world could see that luscious body.

He gritted his teeth and followed her to the kitchen. She bent over, grabbing a vase from under the kitchen sink. The hem of her dress rode up.

Holy shit. Yep, he could definitely like this version.

Clint blinked twice just to make sure his retinas were working. “Why aren’t you wearing underwear?”

The mere thought was just plain wicked, but the reality was a thousand times better.

Her naughty lips curled into a nasty smile. “Dress is too tight. Stan bitched about the VPL—visible panty line.”

He actually had to tell his heart to beat. “I love that dress.”

Clint shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her. If one finger made contact with her skin, they’d never get to the ball. Personally, he was okay with that plan, but Summer should have the opportunity to make her mother eat every negative word.

“I feel like a slut.” She placed the flowers in the vase, stuck it under the faucet, and turned on the water. “It’s kind of nice. Maybe if I’d offered to go bare-assed to the prom, I’d have had a date.”

Dressed like that and out with another man? Homicide sounded like a good idea.

“Just so we’re clear”—his voice cracked—“tonight is the only time I’m letting you out of the house dressed like that.”

He checked his watch. “In fact, we need to stop by my house and pick up my checkbook. I’m probably going to end up in jail, fighting off all the men who’re going to try and get their hands on you, so I’m going to need bail money.”

Summer kissed him on the cheek. “That’s so sweet.”

She thought he was kidding. “There’s nothing sweet about murder.” Clint looked down her dress. From this vantage point he could almost see her areolas. He combed his fingers through his hair. Holy Christ, it was going to be a long night. Why the hell had he thought making her over was a good idea?

“I can’t be the first bare-bottomed date you’ve had.” Summer picked up a small, black, beaded purse that looked like an envelope.

Clint shook his head. Undoubtedly, he’d had several bare-assed dates, but he didn’t remember a single one. In fact, all the women before Summer faded back into a faceless crowd, like fans at a game, just people who moved in and out of his life.

“The others were just practice.”

“For what?” Her lips were painted a shiny cherry red.

“You,” Clint said and really meant it. She was memorable. Fifty years from now, he’d be drooling into his soup not remembering his own name, but he would be able to recall every detail of her face. She was that girl—the one who turned dull gray into brilliant color and made everything perfect.

She was his one.

She looked away. “Charm Boy is back. I guess you have to do what you have to do.”

He captured her face in his hands. “I left Charm Boy at the door. You look wonderful, and I want to spend as much time with you as you’ll let me.”

Her hands slid down his back and squeezed his butt. “Me too. We could start on some quality time right now. By my count, we need a couple more times to break your record.”

Her voice was husky, and her eyes sparkled in invitation.

Clint hadn’t been talking about sex when he’d mentioned spending time with her. Yes, it was incredible, but so was she. Making her smile and trying to figure out how her mind worked was just as rewarding as the physical act of love.

That was a new one for him. He wanted more from her than just sex.

Did she want the same from him?

“Ten bucks says she comments on my boobs first.” Summer pulled at the tight dress, trying to scrounge another inch’s worth of coverage. Standing in her mother’s gray Carrara-marbled front entryway next to Clint, waiting for Inez to announce them, Summer had never felt more conspicuous. This was her childhood home and should have been a place of solace and joy. Instead, her stomach rolled like she was on a seesaw as she shuffled from foot to foot.

In other households, adult children waltzed into their family’s home unannounced, called out to their parents, and raided the fridge for a snack, but that wasn’t done in the Ames family. Voices were controlled, emotions were nonexistent, and the refrigerator held only bottled water and a box of baking soda, which was replaced on the first of every month.

Cold, controlled, and plastic—that was her mother.

And she would get the wrong idea about Clint. He had called Summer his girlfriend, and he might feel that way now, but who knew what tomorrow would bring? She tugged at her hem one more time. The sad little girl inside couldn’t face the disappointment that would surely grace her mother’s face after Clint moved on.

Summer massaged the muscles at the back of her neck. Sometime soon, he wouldn’t be in her life. Emptiness nipped at her heels. She swallowed the lump of longing.

Clarity—the kind that comes from emotional distance—settled around her like a warm blanket, soothing her tired muscles. She would never be good enough for her mother, no matter what she did. In her mother’s eyes, Summer would always be too fat or too tall or too…imperfect.

Why try so hard? Nothing ever changed.

Lillian Ames floated down the two-story wrought iron staircase in an ice-blue Alexander McQueen couture chiffon dress, its empire waist billowing out almost to her knees. Her blonde bob bounced delicately with each step. In her hand, she held—Summer squinted to get a better look—a bag of gummy bears? She looked away and then looked back just to make sure. Yes, gummy bears. And not the sugar-free kind.

“I wish I could pull off that much cleavage, but you have so much more to work with.” Her mother grinned as she popped in another gummy.

In her memory, Summer had never seen her mother eat any carbs, much less candy. She glanced at Inez for clarification.

“Don’t look at me. She’s crazy.” Inez shook her head. “Don’t try to take them from her or she turns mean.”

Her mother leaned in and kissed Summer on the cheek. “You look beautiful as always.”

Summer’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. Her mother had never complimented her. Once again, she looked at Inez.

Inez shrugged. “Hell if I know. She went out of town for two weeks and came back eating chocolate ice cream and actin’ less bitchy. I’m encouragin’ her to travel more.”

Clint pulled a folded bill out of his pants pocket and handed it to Summer.

She stared at him for a few beats trying to figure out what he was doing.

“You were right about the boob comment. I always pay my debts.”

“Oh.” Summer ignored her smiling mother and glanced around for her purse. Crap, she’d left it in the car. She shrugged, folded the bill in half again, and tucked it into the shelf bra sown into the dress.

“Summer.” Her mother was shocked. That was the first sign of the old Lillian.

Clint eyed Summer’s boobs. “I’ll give you another ten dollars if I can watch you do that again.” He licked his lips. “Twenty if I get to stuff it in myself.”

Her mother sighed with equal parts scandal and impatience.

Summer didn’t care. She didn’t owe her mother a thing, and it was past time to cut the apron strings. She put one fist on her waist and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve slipped lots of twenties in cleavage?”

Clint grinned. “Man’s gotta have a hobby.”

In light of the fact that her fiancé had run off with a stripper, this should bother her, but with Clint, it was expected, and he was upfront about it. She arched her back and thrust her chest forward. “Twenty bucks is twenty bucks. Give it your best shot.”

“Summerville Ames.” Her mother’s eyes were huge. “I should chide you for acting like a common hussy—”

“You’d rather I act like an uncommon one?” Summer clamped her hand over her mouth as silence snapped through the room. She’d never back-talked her mother. Clint put his arm around her and pulled her close.

“Summerville?” He kissed her cheek. “Sounds like a ham.”

Lillian turned to Clint. “You’re the football player?” She offered him her hand, not in the traditional handshake position but palm down so he could kiss the back.

“Yes, ma’am, Clint Grayson, Summer’s boyfriend.” He recognized the gesture for what it was—a show of dominance—took her mother’s hand, and shook it instead of demurring.

Score one for Grayson.

Lillian nodded her approval and withdrew her hand. “Since my daughter has forgotten her manners, I’m Lilly Ames.”

Lilly?

Summer looked to Inez again. The maid hunched her shoulders. “What? She can call herself Queen Elizabeth for all I care, as long as she keeps picking up her own dirty dishes.”

If it weren’t for the jibe about Summer’s manners, she would have thought her mother had been replaced by a less severe clone.

Clint looked down his perfect, aristocratic nose at her mother. “On the contrary, ma’am. I believe Summer’s manners are impeccable.” His lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No doubt you taught her to keep her mouth shut unless she had something nice to say.”

Game to Grayson.

Lillian’s eyes popped open.

Inez patted Clint on the back. “Nice one. I like him. Not like the ass your mother picked out.” She pointed to Lillian. “He stays. Don’t mess it up.”

“Let’s cut to the chase. You insult Summer, I insult you.” Clint’s thumb drew circles at the base of Summer’s spine.

Clint was protecting her. Summer opened her mouth to argue that she didn’t need it and then closed it. For once, someone was standing up for her. Her shoulders went back and her chin went up. Clint thought she was worthy of protection, and for the first time, so did she. He wanted to be her hero, and she decided to sit back and let him.