Pippi finally ran off to join her father and demand he go in the water with her. He was agreeable, although they had a small dispute about the boots, which he eventually won.
“I love that kid.” Annabelle’s expression held a trace of longing. “She’s got a lot of spirit.”
“Which is bound to get her into trouble when she’s incarcerated.”
“Will you stop it?”
Her hair brushed his thigh again. He could only handle so much stimulation, and he shot up. “I’m going swimming. Want to join me?”
She sent a longing glance toward the lake. “I think I’ll stay here.”
“Come on, girly-girl.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Unless you’re afraid to get your hair wet?”
Quick as a flash, she jerked free and raced for the water. “Last one to the raft is an obsessive-compulsive fathead.” She plunged in and set off. He was right after her. Although she was a good swimmer, he had her on endurance. Still, he made himself back off when they got close so she could win.
As she touched the ladder, she rewarded him with one of those Annabelle grins that took over her whole face. “Sissy boy got beat.”
That was too much, and he dunked her.
They horsed around like that for a while, climbing up on the raft, diving in, and attacking each other. Growing up with older brothers had taught her more than a few dirty tricks, and her expression of glee when she got the best of him was priceless. Once again, she tried to make him tell her what the D in his middle name stood for. He refused and got a face full of water. The horseplay gave him a good excuse to get his hands on her, but he finally lingered too long, and she pulled back.
“I’ve had enough. I’m going back to the cottage to rest up before dinner.”
“I understand. You’re not as young as you used to be.”
But he couldn’t bait her, and she swam away. He watched as she waded toward the beach. Her bathing suit rode up, revealing two round, water-slicked cheeks. She reached around and slipped her finger under the leg openings to tug it back into place. He groaned and dove under, but the water wasn’t nearly cold enough, and it took awhile before he settled down.
When he got back to the beach, he spent some time shooting the bull with Charmaine and Darnell, but all the while he was conscious of Phoebe lazing on a chaise a few yards away. She wore a big straw hat, a low-cut one-piece black suit with a tropical print sarong wrapped around her waist, and an invisible DO NOT DISTURB sign. He decided it was time to make his move and excused himself from the Pruitts to wander over. “Mind if I pull up some sand so we can talk?”
Her lids dropped behind a pair of sunglasses with pink lenses. “And my day was going so well until now.”
“All good things have to come to an end.” Instead of taking the empty chaise next to her, he gave her the advantage of the superior position and sat on an abandoned towel in the sand. “I’ve been curious about something ever since that party for the kids.”
“Oh?”
“How did a dragon lady like you end up with a sweetheart like Hannah?”
For once, she laughed. “Dan’s gene pool.”
“Did you hear Hannah talking to the girls about the balloons?”
She finally looked at him. “I guess I missed that conversation.”
“She said that if their balloons broke, they could cry if they really wanted to, but all it meant was that a grumpy fairy had stuck a pin in them. Where does she come up with stuff like that?”
She smiled. “Hannah has quite an imagination.”
“I’ll say. She’s a special kid.”
Even the toughest moguls were pushovers when it came to their children, and the ice cracked a little more. “We worry about her more than the others. She’s so sensitive.”
“Considering who her parents are, I’m guessing she’s a lot tougher than you think.” He should have been ashamed of himself for laying it on so thick, but Hannah really was a great kid, and he didn’t feel too bad about it.
“I don’t know. She feels things pretty deeply.”
“What you call sensitive, I call having people smarts. Once she graduates from ninth grade, send her to me and I’ll give her a job. I need somebody to put me in touch with my feminine side.”
Phoebe laughed, a sound of genuine amusement. “I’ll think about it. Might be useful to have a spy in the enemy camp.”
“Come on, Phoebe. I was a cocky kid trying to show everybody how tough I was. I blew it, and we both know it. But I haven’t screwed you over once since then.”
A shadow fell over her face. “Now, you’ve moved on to Annabelle.”
Just like that, their fragile camaraderie evaporated. He spoke carefully. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“You’re using her to get to me, and I don’t like it.”
“It’s hard to use Annabelle. She’s pretty sharp.”
Phoebe shot him her no-nonsense look. “She’s special, Heath, and she’s my friend. Perfect for You means everything to her. You’re making things messy.”
A fairly accurate assessment, but a knot of anger still formed under his breastbone. “You don’t give her enough credit.”
“She doesn’t give herself enough credit. That’s what makes her vulnerable. Her family’s convinced her she’s a failure because she’s not earning six figures. She needs to be concentrating on making her business work, and I’m getting the feeling you deliberately turned yourself into a bad distraction.”
He forgot that he never let himself get defensive. “Exactly what do you mean by that?”
“I saw how you were looking at her last night.”
The insinuation that he might deliberately hurt Annabelle stuck in his craw. He wasn’t his father. He didn’t use women, and he especially didn’t use a woman he liked. But he was dealing with Phoebe Calebow, and he couldn’t afford to lose his temper, so he dug into his always reliable supply of self-control …and came up empty. “Annabelle’s my friend, and I don’t make it a habit of hurting my friends.” He pushed to his feet. “But then you don’t know me well enough to figure that out, do you?”
As he stalked away, he called himself every name in the book. He never lost it. He absolutely never fucking lost it. Yet he’d basically just told Phoebe Calebow to go to hell. And for what? Because enough truth lurked in what she’d said to hurt. The fact was, he’d committed a foul, and Phoebe had dropped a penalty flag on him.
Annabelle waited for Heath on the front porch at the B&B along with Janine, whom she’d invited to ride into town with them for dinner. Annabelle had stayed in her bedroom at the cottage until she’d heard Heath come in. As soon as the shower started running, she’d jotted a quick note, left it on the table, and slipped out. The less time she spent alone with him the better.
“Any ideas about Krystal’s mysterious surprise?” Janine straightened the clasp on her silver necklace as they sat in the porch rockers.
“No, but I hope it’s fattening.” Annabelle didn’t really care what the surprise was, as long as it kept her away from Heath after dinner.
He pulled up in the car, and Annabelle insisted Janine sit with him in the front. On their way into town, he asked about her books. He’d never read a word she’d written, but by the time they reached the inn, he’d convinced her she had everything it took to be the next J. K. Rowling. The weird thing was, he seemed to believe it. No question that the Python was a powerful motivator.
The Wind Lake Inn’s rustic north woods decor complemented a varied menu of beef, fish, and game. Conversation was lively, and Annabelle limited her alcohol consumption to a single glass of wine. As they dug into their entrées, Phoebe asked the men how their book discussion had gone. Darnell opened his mouth to respond, his gold tooth flashing, only to have Dan cut in. “So much came up, I don’t even know where to start. Ron?”
“It was intense, all right,” the Stars’ general manager said.
Kevin looked thoughtful. “A lot of sharing.�
�
“Intense?” Darnell scowled. “It was—”
“Heath could probably summarize better than any of us,” Webster interjected.
The others nodded solemnly and turned their heads toward Heath, who set down his fork. “I doubt I could do it justice. Who figured we could have so many different opinions about postmodern nihilism?”
Molly looked at Phoebe. “They didn’t talk about the book at all.”
“I told you they wouldn’t,” her sister replied.
Charmaine reached over to rub her husband’s back. “I’m sorry, honey. You know I tried to talk the women into letting you join our group, but they said you’d upset our dynamics.”
“Besides trying to bully us into reading One Hundred Years of Solitude,” Janine added.
“That is a great book!” Darnell exclaimed. “Y’all don’t want to challenge your minds.”
Kevin had heard Darnell’s lecture on people’s reading tastes before and quickly moved to deflect it. “We know you’re right. And we’re all ashamed of ourselves, aren’t we, guys?”
“I am.”
“Me, too.”
“Can’t hardly stand to look in the mirror.”
Kevin seized on Annabelle as the next distraction to keep Darnell from getting worked up. “So what’s this I hear about you dating Dean Robillard?”
Everyone at the table stopped eating. Heath set down his knife. The women’s heads swiveled. Molly gazed into her husband’s not-so-innocent green eyes. “Annabelle’s not dating Dean. She would have told us.”
“I’m really not,” Annabelle said.
Kevin Tucker, the wiliest quarterback in the NFL, scratched the back of his head like a gorgeous doofus. “I’m confused. I talked to Dean on Friday, and he mentioned that the two of you went out last week and that he’d had a real good time.”
“Well, we went to the beach…”
“You went to the beach with Dean Robillard, and you didn’t think to mention it?” Krystal shrieked.
“It was…a last-minute thing.”
The women started buzzing. Kevin had more mischief on his mind and didn’t wait for them to calm down. “So Dean’s planning to ask you out again?”
“No, of course not. No. I mean…is he? Why? Did he say something?”
“I kind of got that idea. Maybe I misunderstood.”
“I’m sure you did.”
Heath sat stony-faced, a fact that caught Phoebe’s interest. “Your little matchmaker certainly is getting around.”
“I’m glad,” Sharon said. “It’s time she came out of her shell.”
Heath regarded Annabelle dubiously. “You were in a shell?”
“Kind of.”
Charmaine gazed at her across the table. “Are we allowed to talk about your unfortunate engagement?”
Annabelle sighed. “Why not? We seem to be examining every other part of my life.”
“Shocked the hell out of me,” Kevin said. “Rob and I played golf together a couple of times. He had an ugly duck hook, but still…”
Molly covered his hand with her own. “It’s been two years, and Kevin’s still not reconciled.”
Kevin shook his head. “I feel like I should invite him…her…to play again, just to show I’m broad-minded, which I am under ordinary circumstances, but I like Annabelle, and Rob knew from the beginning he had a problem. He should never have asked her to marry him.”
“I remember Rob’s duck hook,” Webster said.
“Yeah, I remember it, too.” Dan shook his head in disgust.
A short silence fell. Kevin gazed at his brother-in-law. “Are you thinking the same thing I am?”
“Yep.”
“Me, too,” Webster said.
Ron nodded. So did the others. Heath smiled, and they all returned their attention to their dinner plates.
“What?” Molly shrieked.
Kevin shook his head. “No sex-change operation in the world is going to fix a duck hook like that.”
The women left the men at the inn and returned to the B&B, where Krystal locked them into the cozy back parlor, drew the shades, and turned down the lights. “Tonight,” she announced, “we’re going to celebrate our sexuality.”
“I read that book,” Molly said. “And if anybody starts taking off her clothes and grabbing a mirror, I’m out of here.”
“We’re not celebrating that way,” Krystal said. “All of us have some issues we need to face. For example…Charmaine’s too uptight.”
“Me?”
“You undressed in the closet for the first two years of your marriage.”
“That was a long time ago, and I don’t undress there anymore.”
“Only because Darnell threatened to take the door off. But you’re not the only one with sexual hang-ups. Annabelle doesn’t say much about it, but we all know she hasn’t slept with anybody since Rob traumatized her. Unless last night …?”
They all turned to gaze at her.
“I’m his matchmaker! We’re not having sex!”
“Which is a good thing,” Molly said. “But Dean Robillard’s a whole different matter. Talk about the ultimate boy toy.”
“We’re straying,” Krystal said. “Three of us have been married for a long time, and no matter how much we love our husbands, things can get a little stale.”
“Or not,” Phoebe drawled with her cat’s smile.
They all snickered, but Krystal wouldn’t be distracted. “Molly and Kevin have young kids, and we know what a crimp that can put in your sex life.”
“Or not.” Molly offered up her own cat’s smile.
“The point is…It’s time we get more in touch with our sexuality.”
“I’m way too much in touch with mine,” Janine said. “I just wish somebody else would touch it, too.”
More snickers.
“Go ahead and make jokes,” Krystal said. “We’re still going to watch this film. We’ll be better women for it.”
Charmaine went on full alert. “What kind of film?”
“An erotic movie made especially for women.”
“You’re kidding. Really, Krystal.”
“The one I selected—a personal favorite—involves actors of various races, ages, and degrees of hotness, so nobody’ll feel excluded.”
“This is your big mystery?” Phoebe said. “That we’re going to watch porn together?”
“Erotica. Made just for women. And until you’ve seen some of these movies, you shouldn’t judge.”
Annabelle suspected more than a few of them already had, but no one wanted to put too much of a damper on Krystal’s enthusiasm.
“Here’s what I really like about this particular film,” Krystal said. “The men are all gorgeous, but the women are fairly ordinary. No silicone.”
“That sets it apart from porn for men, all right,” Sharon said. “At least from what I’ve heard.”
Krystal began fussing with the DVD player. “There’s also a story, and real foreplay. A lot of it. Kissing, slow undressing, lots of caressing…”
Janine buried her face in her hands. “This is pathetic. I’m already getting turned on.”
“I’m not,” Charmaine said in a huff. “I’m a Christian, and I refuse to—”
“Good Christians—good Christian women—are supposed to please their husbands.” Krystal smiled and hit the remote. “And believe me, this’ll please the hell out of Darnell.”
Chapter Fourteen
When Annabelle returned to the cottage shortly after midnight, her cheeks were still flushed from watching the film, and her sundress clung to hot, damp…very damp flesh. Seeing the light shining through the front window filled her with dismay. Maybe he’d left it on as a courtesy. Please don’t still be waiting up. She absolutely could not face him tonight. Even without watching a dirty movie, she could barely keep her hands off him, but after what she’d just seen…
She tiptoed up to the porch, slipped off her sandals, and let herself in as silently as the squeaky s
creen door and wobbly doorknob would allow.
“Hey.”
She gasped and dropped her sandals. “Don’t scare me like that!” “Sorry.” He lay sprawled on the couch, a sheaf of papers in one hand. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a pair of faded black athletic shorts. His feet were bare, his ankles crossed on the arm of the couch, where light from the floor lamp turned the hair on his calves golden. Her eyes returned to the gym shorts. After what she’d seen on the screen, he was criminally overdressed.
As she tried to get her breath back, he lifted his head and shoulders, which, of course, contracted his abs into the gold standard of six-packs. “Why’s your face so red?” he said.
“S-sunburn.” She knew how vulnerable she was, and she should have thrown herself in the lake to cool off before she came back here.
“That’s not sunburn.” He swung his feet to the floor, and she noticed his hair was damp. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing!” She began inching away. It meant taking the long route around, but she wasn’t turning her back on him. “You took another shower.”
“So?”
“You showered after you swam. What are you, some kind of clean freak?”
“Ron and I went for a run after dinner. Why do you care?”
Oh, God, that chest, that mouth …those green eyes that saw everything. Except her naked. They’d never seen that. “I’m…going to bed now.”
“Was it something I said?”
“Don’t be cute. Please.”
“I’ll do my best.” He gave her a crooked smile. “But me being me…”
“Stop it!” She didn’t intend to quit moving, but her feet went on some kind of labor strike.
“You need warm milk or something?”
“No, I definitely don’t need anything hot.”
“I said warm. I didn’t say anything about hot.” He set down his papers.
“I—I know that.”
She might be standing still, but he wasn’t, and he took in her damp, rumpled dress as he approached. “What’s going on?”
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