Fat Pat, you sure can't miss her!
But does she really think Gray Lee's gonna kiss her?
"Great," 15-year-old 10th-grader, "Fat Pat" Turner muttered, quickly riffling through the messy top shelf of her locker for the books she'd need in fifth period, her pulse racing as her tormenters neared. Geography notebook, she thought, relief flooding her. She slid it from the metal shelf, pressing it so tightly to her ample chest that the spirals felt as though they were making permanent indentations. Pat rushed to find her geography textbook, knowing she had mere moments to safely get away from her locker and to the lunchroom before the Four Queens circled her and began repeating their too familiar chant.
Fat Pat's so hungry
She can't fit into dungarees.
Pat wished it wasn't so damn true. She was wearing a loose, ankle-length dress designed to make the most of a fuller figure. She'd been listening to the chants for so long that they kept replaying in her head off and on all during the day. And sometimes even during the night, too, while she lay awake, staring through her window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her next-door neighbor, senior Gray Lee, before his bedroom light snapped off in the second story of the stately stone mansion his family owned, the queens' taunting words played in Pat's head like a pulsing chorus to the latest Madonna song. "Like a Virgin."
Yeah. At this rate, Pat would be one forever. But dammit, she was fine the way she was, right? Didn't everybody say her thick blond hair was gorgeous? So what if she swept it around her face to hide cheeks she thought looked embarrassingly bloated? She knew she had a pretty face. Her mom, Betty, said she looked like Meg Ryan. And she did. At least from the neck up. Gray agreed, not that his compliments stopped the hot waves of humiliation Pat felt now. Why couldn't she whirl around and tell the Four Queens to go to hell? What was their problem, anyway? They had looks. Brains. Popularity. Plus, all of them, except Brooke, had money.
"So just leave me alone," Pat whispered, silently willing the geography textbook to appear and wishing she'd made at least one friend at Freemont since the beginning of the school year. Her hand settled on Dante's Inferno — they were reading it in fourth period. Pat thought of Dante's vision of the devil's domain. Next to Freemont High in Denver, better known as Cagemont, hell sounded like an improvement.
There! Thank God! Just as Pat grabbed the geography book, Brooke, Ashley, and the two Brittanys came up behind her. They all wore the same perfume — Joy. Barely tolerable on one, the scent was enough to knock you over when quadrupled. By the time Pat escaped — if she escaped — she'd have a migraine.
Before she could slam the locker door, a long-fingered, candy-pink-manicured hand caught it, and Pat came face-to-face with the Four Queens, so called since they held court at the new Starbucks, also known as Star-sucks, next to an old beauty salon across the street from Cagemont. There was Brittany A., short for Anderson, nicknamed the Queen of Hearts, because she'd already broken a couple dozen and she had just turned 16. And then there was Brittany B., short for Benning, called the Queen of Diamonds, since in the most current yearbook, she'd been voted the most likely to marry first.
Ashley dated star quarterback, Ace Callard, which was why she'd been dubbed Queen of Aces, and Brooke was Queen of Spades. If you looked deeply enough into her oval ebony eyes, you could tell the name bothered her, since she was African-American, but she pretended not to care. Some days, Pat pitied Brooke, but right now, Pat was too worried about her own situation.
The Queens had surrounded her, their short skirts swishing, high heels clicking, overly mascaraed eyelashes batting. The trendy stacked bracelets they wore were chiming like a funeral dirge…hers!
"Hmm," purred leggy, blond Brittany B., the one holding open the locker door. "Pat doesn't want to miss her lunch."
Brittany A. jealously taunted, "Maybe she's having lunch with her boyfriend. I bet she's rushing off to see Gray, aren't you, Pat?"
"'Oh, Gra-a-ay,'" Ashley said in falsetto, pretending to be Pat as she spoke, "'Why, you know I'm a big girl. You know how much I love to eat.'"
"Gray's at your house every day after school," Brittany A. cut in with a derisive laugh. "What are you two doing? Eating more than after-school snacks, Pat?"
"Ah," agreed Ashley, "she's serving herself up as a tasty morsel."
Brittany A. nodded. "Why else would Gray go over there?"
Heat exploded in Pat's cheeks. She damned herself for getting caught alone in the hallway, and prayed no one heard any of this. Especially Gray. Ever since he started dating Brittany A. at the beginning of football season, Pat's every day at school had become a living hell, but if he knew that, he might stop visiting her. "Just leave me alone," she muttered.
Brittany A. tried to peel the notebook away from Pat's chest, and Pat's heart hammered. What if she caught a glimpse of the pages Pat had filled with Gray's name? Worse, what if Gray found out and never spoke to her again? What if he realized how stupid he looked, hanging out with a fat unpopular underclassman? She'd die if he quit giving her rides home. Or slipping out of his robe, exposing his briefs and bare chest before hopping into bed at night...
Shivers went through Pat. She'd just turned 15, but she knew Gray was the only male she'd ever want. He was a senior, a tight end for the Conquerors, and already he'd been offered two football scholarships, not that his wealthy parents couldn't afford to send him to college. He was big and gorgeous, with a generous smile and a ball player's rough, tough broad-shouldered physique. His flat torso was ribbed like a washboard, and his eyes, liquid green. His too-long hair was wavy and dark blond.
Two years ago, Pat and her mom had begun renting the carriage house behind the Lees' mansion in the same upscale neighborhood where Ashley and the Brittanys lived, and shortly after that, Pat's mom had begun running a day care from the carriage house, baby-sitting five preschoolers. All last year, Gray had popped by on a regular basis, clearly enjoying having Betty to talk over his day with and feed him after-school snacks. Everything was great until this year, when Pat came to Cagemont and learned that Gray was the most popular senior at school. Gray, Gray, he'll make you pay, she thought, another chant playing in her head. Then What's it gonna be? Another goal for Lee?
Pat was still tightly holding half her notebook, wondering if Brittany was going to tear off the cover. "Give it back," Pat muttered. "I need it for fifth period." She shouldn't have spoken. The hint of desperation in her voice brought a mean glint into Brittany A.'s eyes. She'd realized Pat had something to hide. Once more, Pat hoped she didn't see the pages filled with Gray's name.
"C'mon, leave her alone," Brooke said, trying to sound bored. "I need to pick up some nail polish during lunch break."
Brooke had hung back, and Pat shot her an appreciative glance.
"Yeah, why don't you go get her nail polish. Give me my notebook, Brittany."
"Ouch!" gasped Ashley. "Fat Pat's got her claws out!"
The hair spray came from nowhere in a moist stream of mist. Brittany A. veered back, her blond mane flying over her shoulder as she whirled. "You could have sprayed my eyes!"
"Then we wouldn't have to look at you." Sunny Jones frowned as if confused by her own words. She was in Pat's English class. "Oops," Sunny said, grinning as if she'd just got her mistake. Still waving the lethal can of Aquanet, she added, "I guess that's not strictly true, since you, not me, would be the one blinded, correct?"
"Perfect logic, Jones." This time the speaker was Kelly Wainwright, a girl who was renowned at Cagemont as the Brain.
Brittany A.'s mouth slackened, displaying perfect teeth.
"I think she dropped something," the Brain murmured.
"Her jaw," clarified M. J. Carter, a wild, rebellious-looking girl who was in Pat's second-period Spanish class. "But given how short her skirt is, she'd better not pick anything up. Am I the only one who's noticed she wore those same panties yesterday?"
Sunny giggled and glanced toward a girl named Isabella, who was shyly hanging back, but enjoying the fun. Sunny continued, "Brittany's mother does buy those panties with the days of the week written on them, after all."
The Brain sighed sympathetically. "Apparently, she was assuming her daughter was actually learning how to read at Cagemont."
"Instead of torturing real students," agreed Sunny.
"Losers," huffed Ashley defensively.
"This school's nothing without us," chimed Brittany A.
Sunny slowly turned, staring straight through the two Brittanys as if they were made of cellophane. "Did you all hear something? I was trying to listen, but the voices were so shrill I swear my eardrums burst."
"The Four Queens," Pat's rescuers softly chanted as if on cue. "They scream and scream. Too bad they don't use Listerine."
Pat couldn't help it. For the first time in weeks, she laughed aloud. This was even more amazing than Gray inviting her to help him wash his father's car in the driveway the Lee family shared with her mom.
Sunny slammed the locker door. "Have all your fifth period books, Turner?"
Not only had the girls rescued her, their gazes didn't hold a hint of pity. Pat managed a nod. Just as she was turning away, thinking she'd got off scot-free, Brittany A. grabbed the collar of her dress, and said, "Listen, fat girl. Gray belongs to me."
What happened next was still being debated 10 years later. The Queens swore Sunny made the first move, karate-chopping the space behind Brittany B.'s knees and making her go down, but Pat distinctly remembered Brittany A. yanking her dress collar.
Somehow, class notes slid from M.J.'s notebook, and Brooke slipped on them, as if on a banana peel. In retaliation, Ashley slugged M.J. — and even though M.J. wasn't from the best side of the tracks and knew how to fight for herself, Pat was only too happy to help. She'd never committed a violent act before or since, but she whacked Ashley with the geometry book. Too bad Ashley ducked, which was how Brittany A. wound up with a black eye.
By then Cagemont's principal, Mr. Sheridan, was pulling the girls apart. Six weeks' detention followed, and they'd been the sweetest weeks of Pat Turner's life. She'd established close friendships with Sunny, M.J., Kelly, and Isabella, and her friendship with the "detention gang" had lasted all these years.
Ten years to be exact, Pat thought as she stepped into the airport concourse, her eyes scanning the crowds, wondering if her old friends were going to recognize her. It had been a long time. Too long.
She'd spent 10 years on the East Coast, and looked nothing like the girl she'd been while at Freemont High. She was taller now, svelte, actually attractive — though she had trouble believing it herself — but she was still a virgin. And she was back in Denver with intriguing plans for the man she'd loved since high school...the man who, just last year, had become Brittany A.'s ex-husband: sexy ball player Gray Lee.
Pat glanced sideways at the woman in the chair next to hers at Sunny's hair salon.
"So, you read Pat Answers?" Pat prodded as she unrolled a red, turbaned towel from her wet hair, letting it drape across the shoulders of one of the chic black robes her friend Sunny Jones had ordered for the salon she now owned. Pat tapped a French-manicured nail on her syndicated column in the Denver Star, glad for the distraction from thinking about tonight's date with Gray...the date where Pat intended to lose her virginity. What would Gray think of the changes in her appearance?
Ashley had come to the salon to get her hair highlighted. Known 10 years ago as the Queen of Hearts, Ashley hadn't even recognized Pat, much less realized she was the author of the Q & A column Pat Answers, designed to help women with issues of health and sexuality.
"Pat's the best," Ashley quipped now in a perky tone.
"I love Pat," Pat crooned, tongue in cheek, enjoying getting payback from one of the cheerleaders who'd given her friends so much trouble in high school. "Pat's such a perceptive writer, don't you think?"
"Absolutely!" Ashley agreed with a smile.
Behind her, in a mirror near a manicure stand, Pat could see her old buddies, "the detention gang" — Sunny, Kelly, Isabella, and M.J. — biting back grins. "Remember the month Pat answered letters devoted to learning to love yourself despite your flaws?" Pat wondered if Ashley had caught that one.
"Oh, sure," returned Ashley. "And I got really inspired by Pat's columns on fun things to do in the bedroom."
Pat frowned. If not for that, she wouldn't be in this current jam. Because of the column she'd begun as her master's thesis for the Columbia University journalism degree, she had become nationally known, and a publisher was awaiting Pat's finished dissertation, which was to be released as a book, The Total Pat. But Pat's advisor, Joan Foster, had used Pat's own words against her — saying no woman was complete without a healthy sexual relationship. The dissertation wouldn't be accepted until Pat "explored that area."
The publisher agreed. So far, The Total Pat included before and after pictures documenting Pat's weight loss after a dramatic confrontation and reunion with the father who'd abandoned her years ago, leaving nothing but the huge hole inside Pat, which she'd tried to fill with food. Now, spurred by Joan, the publisher wanted Pat to use the last chapter to talk about grappling with sexuality as "the new Pat." Which meant Pat had to get a man. Fast. Unless she lost her virginity, she could kiss her big-buck book deal goodbye.
That bombshell came the same day Gray Lee contacted Pat out of the blue to see if he could buy recipes for the delectable afternoon snacks Pat's mother had concocted years ago, snacks the new, skinny Pat wouldn't touch with a 10-foot spoon. She'd forked over the recipes, which Gray was now serving in his football-themed restaurant, and they'd begun trading emails. Stunned by how many memories Gray had of their time together, Pat had come up with a plan — to sleep with Gray.
M.J. was laughing, and Pat shot her a mock dark look. The five reunited friends had just come from lunch, and seeing Ashley in the salon really made this seem like old times. Last night's adventures had been just as fun! Pat, M.J., Isabella, Sunny, and Kelly had wound up chorus-dancing on a table at a karaoke bar while screaming the words to Madonna's "Like a Virgin." The '80s were so great, Pat thought with affection, still looking at Ashley, her mood sobering when she thought of Gray.
"Ever since I've been reading Pat, I've had a more positive outlook," Ashley said. "If you ask me, she's every bit as inspirational as Oprah. She's supposed to be writing a book. I can't wait to buy it!"
Not if my dissertation's not approved, thought Pat.
Ashley's eyes flicked over Pat — a little envious, a little appreciative. "Sunny does terrific work." As she opened the door to leave, bells hanging from the knob clanged. "I'm sure your hair'll look great, but you already look fabulous."
She exited, leaving Pat standing there, wondering what Ashley would have said if she'd realized Pat of Pat Answers fame was Fat Pat "can't Turner over" from high school. The old chants came back to her loud and clear. Fat Pat's so hungry/She can't fit into dungarees. As the old hurts came racing back, too, she caught the glances of her friends, who were still amused over the fact that Ashley hadn't recognized Pat. Her friends, like her mom, Betty, had always been there for Pat. Not about to let them down, she turned gamely, holding out the hem of her salon robe as if it were a ball gown. She chirped, "Pat's absolutely fabulous articles have helped me get a thousand terrific-looking guys in the sack!"
"Liar!" hooted M.J. as she, Pat, and Kelly plopped into swivel chairs.
"Sit still," Sunny ordered, reaching into a drawer. "I need to comb you out."
"I can comb my own hair," protested Pat. It felt weird to have one of her girlfriends attending to her. "Who do I look like — Cinderella? Keep it up and I'll think I'm a celebrity."
"You are," reminded Sunny.
"Oh, please. You're acting as though I'm one of the Queens," Pat said, using her friends' favorite nickname for Ashley and the other popular cheerleaders from high school.
"Maybe a court jester," quipped Sunny, possessively gripping the comb.
"Do what thou wilt," said Pat, giving in. "I turn my will and my life over to your scissors."
"Now you're talking," said Sunny. "I'm giving you a hairdo that'll say, 'give me sex tonight.'"
Kelly was leaning forward, studying Pat's reflection, and Pat's eyes softened. Kelly was prettier than she'd been in high school. Still the brain, she was strikingly attractive, tall, and stylish. Due to the death of her mother, Kelly hadn't accepted her scholarship to Yale Law School, but instead had attended law school in Denver so that she could help her father and younger brothers out. After graduation she'd joined her father's law firm and since he'd been ill, she'd been running it.
Pat felt a surge of pride. They'd all done so much with their lives. Shy, stammering Isabella, who'd actually been teased in high school because of her Latin exotic beauty, had used those same looks to become an international success as a model. Just last month she'd been on the cover of Vogue. M.J., the rebel without a cause, had found one as an investigative reporter for the Denver Star. Her series of articles on the dumping of toxic waste by a huge computer maker had been nominated for several awards. Next, the Pulitzer, M.J. vowed. And Sunny...
Sunny cursed, tugging at tangles. "What do you use for conditioner, Turner?" she growled. "A teasing comb?"
Pat merely laughed. "Your shop's fantastic, Sunny."
"You bought the old beauty shop across from Cagemont," Isabella said, shaking her head. "Who would have guessed?"
M.J. looked disgruntled. "How can you stand to stare at Cagemont all day?"
"Oh, Cagemont's grown on me," said Sunny fondly.
"You hate to admit it, don't you?" agreed Pat. When she'd seen the old school, she'd hardly been prepared for the sudden sting at her eyes, the squeezing of her heart.
"Were we ever that young?" Isabella murmured.
"We're still that young," countered M.J.
"Or not," quipped Kelly. "Ashley's aged 10 years." She chuckled softly. "Was that really the Queen of Aces? Ace Callard's girlfriend! Whatever happened to him?"
"That's the thing about leaving my job as CEO of a dot-com —" Sunny grinned. "I now have dish." She was lifting Pat's hair, strand by strand, deciding how to style it. "Ashley and Ace, unlike Brittany A. and Gray, are still married, however unhappily. But only because Ashley uses every shred of information in Pat Answers. I was blow-drying her when she read "New Things in the Bedroom." She later swore she really slathered her whole body with Lady Godiva chocolate, no less!"
"That was a joke!" Pat protested, unable to believe she was responsible for helping save the Queen of Aces's marriage.
Sunny was frowning. "And that's the other thing about running a dot-com."
Pat took the bait. "What?"
Sunny fluffed Pat's hair. "I couldn't indulge my artistic streak."
"Don't get too artistic," warned Pat, fighting nervousness and the little voice — probably wisdom — that argued this was sheer stupidity. Had she really flown across the country for one date with Gray? Make that the mission of getting him into bed.
As if reading her mind, Isabella, M.J., and Kelly burst into the song the women had made famous in the karaoke bar, "Like a Virgin!"
"I never should have drank that third margarita," Pat complained grumpily. It was after the third that she'd told her girlfriends she intended to lose her virginity to Gray. Previously, no one had guessed she was still a virgin.
"They say it's not really the margaritas," offered M.J. sweetly. "It's those little umbrellas that make you talk."
"I definitely had a few too many umbrellas," said Pat dryly.
"Well...save any ice cubes for Gray," Isabella said with a wink.
Pat swallowed down a lump in her throat, remembering years ago when she'd lain awake at night, staring from the carriage house she and her mother rented from the Lees. Every now and again, she'd catch a luscious glimpse of Gray right before he got into bed. Since coming home, she hadn't trusted herself to ask anyone how he'd changed.
It doesn't matter, she tried to tell herself. She was only seducing him because she needed information, so she could write the end of her dissertation and close her book deal, right? Having a book on the stands was her ticket to a career. Of course, Gray had never seen her as anything but a friend, but now Pat looked every bit as good as the Queens had back in high school, so maybe he'd see her as a woman now. He had to.
"What time are you meeting Gray?" Sunny asked.
Pat's hands were damp with perspiration, and it was a good thing she was seated since her knees felt suddenly weak. "Seven o'clock," she managed. "At Gray's restaurant, The Fifty Yard Line."
Light years wouldn't have been enough time to prepare Gray Lee for seeing little Pat Turner — all grown up. She'd grown up gorgeous. She was slim but curvy in all the right places and sophisticated-looking.
An hour ago, as soon as she walked inside his restaurant, The Fifty Yard Line, he'd been flooded with memories: He and Pat splitting one of her mother's pancake-size peanut-butter cookies after school and squirting each other with the garden hose, his hormones firing heat-bullets every time her shirt got wet. He felt just like he had when he'd been 16, as though he were waking from that dream he still had about her sometimes — the one that always left him hard as a rock.
He was shocked by his reaction. He was...angry. She'd been a heavy kid. Chunky, was the word Gray's dad had preferred to use. Now she looked like one of the superficial women — like his ex-wife, Brittany — Gray had vowed never to date again. Females like that excited him sexually, sure. But they had no depth and no real emotions.
Damn. He'd been anticipating the old Pat — funny, earthy, easy to be with. Not this stranger. They were seated at the best table in his restaurant, beside a bay window overlooking a man-made pond. Birds dove toward the water, and the same amber shafts of autumn twilight that caught on their wings was in her green-eyed gaze as she leafed through a booklet showcasing photos of the delicious desserts her mother had concocted years before. She said, "A penny."
"You think my thoughts come that cheap?"
"It was worth a shot, Gray."
When she laughed, he noted she'd had her teeth straightened; he missed the crooked bottoms. Her smile had been entirely hers. Now, like the Queens, she could have auditioned for a Dentyne commercial. A glint from the table candle danced in her jaw-length, layered hair — so unlike the long, thick waves he remembered that he simply couldn't get used to it. Oh, he was attracted, but for all the wrong reasons. Years ago, she'd been the kind of girl a guy fell in love with; now, she seemed more like the one-night-stand type. "More wine, Pat?"
She was grinning. "My years in New York taught me a few things."
"Such as?"
"The wine's excellent. I'd love some."
"You learned to dress for a man, too."
Seemingly used to such compliments, she smiled her appreciation as she watched him pour, then she glanced around, taking in the posh dining room and long hallway separating it from the sports bar. Already, their dinner had been whisked from the linen tablecloth.
While Gray was warmed by how she'd marveled over the duck, the chef's specialty, he was struck again by just how sophisticated she'd become. "The place is wonderful, Gray."
"Your mother came for the opening."
"I heard she wound up on the six o'clock news."
Despite how Pat was unnerving him, he laughed. "She kept trying to duck the cameraman from channel two, but with desserts like hers, they were determined to track her down."
"She's thrilled you're using the recipes." Pat sighed. "And the staff obviously adores you."
"Obviously adores." The old Pat would have said something less pretentious, such as "likes you lots."
"To tell you the truth, I was worried about being a boss. Afraid I'd turn out like my dad."
Her lips curled upward. "Overbearing?"
"You're still your old self in that way."
She looked pleased he'd noticed the changes. "What way?"
His eyes caught hers. "The master of understatement," he said, his breath catching since he could swear he could feel Pat's toe edging upward on his calf. Was she attempting to seduce him? If so, it wasn't evident in her expression, though her smile deepened.
"What made you decide to open a restaurant?"
"Well," he said, having trouble thinking back while her toe stroked the skin above his ankle. "You know I took a scholarship to U.T."
She laughed, the sound throaty and musical. "I was only in the 10th grade. Devastated by your departure. Never got over it."
"Really?" Gray's green eyes drifted over to where the red cocktail dress molded the full, creamy mounds of her breasts, exposing enough tender flesh to make his groin tighten. "You don't look as if you're dressed in mourning."
"Oh, but I was. Me and every girl at Cagemont."
She was flirting. Had Pat really worn this curve-hugging dress for him? Maybe, because that was definitely a toe slinking along his calf.
"You're the one who got my football jersey," he reminded her, his voice husky. He'd given her the jersey after his last homecoming game for the Conquerors.
"Wondering if I still wear it to bed?"
She sure got to the point. While he'd vowed to steer clear of sophisticates, Pat was definitely tempting him.
"Did you in the past?" he asked.
Her mouth twitched with merriment. "I'll never tell."
The suggestion in her eyes had him imagining her wearing things other than his jersey. Short, silky, low-cut things. "Then I'll never ask."
"Might get dangerous."
Where was the blushing girl he remembered? he wondered as something fierce and dark coursed through his blood. The new Pat was no longer innocent.
Gray wasn't married anymore, either. Absently, he touched his finger, where the wedding band used to be. It was a sore reminder of why he wasn't supposed to bed women who looked like Pat. Besides, she'd be heading back to New York soon enough. He wondered what kind of men she was used to. Business types, he decided. Suits with big bank accounts.
"After two years at U.T.," he continued, "I transferred back to Denver. You'd left for New York...." His voice trailed off and he found himself merely staring into green eyes, the only part of Pat that hadn't changed a bit. "Everybody thought I'd get drafted by the pros." His parents had assumed that. Brittany, too.
"I'm sorry you didn't," she murmured, with surprising emotion. It wasn't the first time anybody had said he was sorry — just the first time it sounded sincere. Lots of Gray's teammates had been too jealous to root for him when it looked as if he was headed for the pros. Not that it mattered now. But being a pro player had been his dream his whole life. He could still remember the terror of sitting in emergency rooms whenever he got hurt, waiting to see if whatever he'd torn, cut, or broken could be fixed...wondering if this was the injury that would end his career. As it turned out, he simply hadn't been good enough.
"I'm sure you miss it."
"It's more than that," he said, knowing he could be blunt with Pat. "Brittany wanted to marry a player. Dad wanted his own dreams fulfilled." Gray had realized that the people closest to him, even his father who loved him, had a personal investment in his future, and couldn't forgive him when he failed. That had hurt more than not getting drafted.
"There will be other dreams," Pat reassured, lifting the wine glass he'd filled.
"Here's to them," he said at the clink. Sipping, he pushed away dark emotions and enjoyed the slow heady, musky taste of the best wine in the house. He felt her toe slithering down his calf to his ankle. Her eyes sparkled as she began leafing through the dessert photos again. "I'd forgotten how decadent these were!" Scandalously, she stared at her mother's Oreo-Twinkie brownies, which were rich dark chocolate with gooey, white-crème middles.
His chest felt tight, and he wasn't sure if it was from desire or memories of the past.
"How's your mom?" he asked.
"Terrific," said Pat brightly. "I'm staying there. Usually she comes to New York for the holidays. Her kindergarten's doing great. She's got two assistants now. Thirty kids."
"No wonder she had to leave the carriage house."
"The carriage house," Pat echoed wistfully. "I haven't seen it for years."
"I'll take you there after dessert. My folks are retiring in Florida. I'm packing the main house for them."
She frowned. "You're selling?"
He understood the feeling. The rambling stone mansion had been in the Lee family for generations. "Too big for a single guy."
She flashed a smile. "Get married."
"Is that a proposal?"
"Premature," she said. "We haven't even slept together."
The words were out before he could stop them. "That could change."
"You're Denver's most promising restaurateur," she quipped, quoting a newspaper article. "You could have anyone."
He wanted her, if for all the wrong reasons. The new Pat was too much like Brittany. The cool way she was seducing him was a provocation, making him want to bend her to his will. It was exciting, yes. But a disappointment. He'd been hoping for the old Pat — and the chance to start a love affair based in friendship. With the changes in Pat, the old magic had vanished, leaving what felt more like banal flirtation of a kind he expected from his ex.
Not even his ex, however, had excited him quite this much. Pat's eyes had returned to a three-tier carrot cake, with mandarin orange slices artfully arranged on the white icing, and she smiled when she took in a cake square drenched in walnut-laden maple syrup. "Those were wicked!"
Not nearly as wicked as she was making him feel. "Is that what you're having?"
Pat pushed away the booklet. "Sorry. I'll have to pass."
"You used to love dessert," he murmured.
Her eyes faltered, and for a second, the old Pat was there. She was so vulnerable and open, the whole alphabet of emotions — everything from anger to joy to sadness — right there where Gray could touch them. That's what was missing. What he'd been searching for all night. Then the look vanished. He was left with a near replica of his ex-wife. Not that Pat wasn't gorgeous, tanned, and blond, the muscles of her bare arms sculpted, but Gray had always liked more than the outside. Pat had been like one of her mother's desserts: a surprise treat, with the tastiest stuff hidden within.
Her voice was strangely unsteady. "You haven't said anything about how much I've changed, Gray."
He should have seen that coming. "You look great," he managed, thinking of his old man. He'd been exacting and tough, overly concerned with what others thought. At the Lees', everything revolved around football, but at Pat's, Gray had been able to get away from the pressures. He'd loved hanging out with the kids Pat's mom baby-sat.
"Remember the old days?" he managed. "How we'd cook-out? Barbeque? Split a bag of chips while watching the afternoon cartoons?"
She looked stunned. Beautiful, in the fashion of a magazine model. But stunned. "I don't know, Gray," she murmured. "I thought you'd be..."
"Blown away by how gorgeous you are?"
"No," she managed modestly, "but I expected —"
"Seduction?" Dammit! What was he doing?Her eyes looked smoky. "Maybe."
He hesitated. He didn't want another high-maintenance female in his life. Ever since Brittany, he'd sworn off perfect looks. Still, Pat would be going back to New York. She'd obviously become a successful woman, in charge of her own life. And tonight, she wanted a casual fling.
"Seduction," he murmured.
Soft urgency threaded beneath her words. "It's been years since I've seen your house."
Slowly, he rose from the table and took her hand. "Then let's not wait any longer, Pat."
Gray had liked her better fat? During dinner the implication had been subtle, but there. As soon as they reached the mansion he used to share with his parents, Pat retreated to the bathroom and pressed her back against a closed door. She stared in a mirror. The red dress she'd worn to seduce Gray hugged her breasts and cinched her waist. "And he noticed," she whispered, thinking of the predatory lights dancing in his eyes.
Unfortunately, beyond her newfound physical attributes, he'd barely noticed "Fat Pat" Turner. The warmth and easy humor they'd shared in high school had vanished. After years of diets, overeaters support-group meetings, and the two punishing hours she spent each morning doing aerobics, hammering her body into that of a ribbed hottie, to her utter dumbfoundment, it seemed that Gray had liked her better the way she used to be.
Heat suffused her cheeks as she pushed away the unwanted memories of staring up at Gray's bedroom through her bedroom window in the carriage house she and her mother had rented from the Lees so many year ago. She remembered feeling she'd sell her soul if she could only lose enough weight to get Gray's attention. If she was skinny, she'd thought, he'd be hers for the taking. He'd always liked her personality — that much was obvious — so, she'd figured her weight was keeping them apart.
Even now, she could see his straining muscles, the perspiration gleaming on his taut, tanned chest, and how the too-long, tousled wheat-hair that hung below his ears blew in the wind as he shot baskets outside. She shuddered. Years had passed, and she still wanted him to be her first lover. She just wished they were sharing the easy rapport they'd had as teens, but Gray was reacting to her as if all he saw was nothing more than a perfect body in a tastefully tight red dress.
"Did you get lost in there?" Gray called.
Somehow, Pat found her voice. "Be right out!"
A moment later, she was in the living room. As a teenager, she'd rarely come inside the main house. Truth be told, Gray's parents had treated her and her mother almost like servants, and Pat suspected they had been less than thrilled when Gray spent his afternoons next door, doing his homework in the carriage house.
"Sorry," she murmured. "Just freshening up."
"You look great, Pat."
Her heart missed a beat. Maybe her plans to seduce him tonight were going to work, after all. All evening, at the restaurant, she'd tried to impress him with the sophistication she'd gained in New York. Maybe it was working.
She glanced around the room, taking in the fieldstone fireplace, then some half-packed boxes. The Lees' home was lovely, but Gray was right, it was too big for one person. Her eyes settled on Gray's wedding picture, displayed in a gold scrollwork frame on a baby grand piano so well polished she could see her reflection as she approached.
Gray's glance was apologetic as he slipped out of a dark sport coat, draping it over the back of a chair. His muscles rippled under a gold V-neck sweater as he moved behind Pat. "Mine's the only divorce in the family, so Mom tries to ignore it. That's why she kept the picture on display."
Pat chuckled. "That's one way of dealing with it."
"You know Mom," he returned dryly. "She's got a way of molding reality to her liking."
"Nothing wrong with that," she murmured, thinking of the punishing hours she'd spent honing her own physique.
She lifted the picture to get a better look at Gray's ex, Brittany Anderson, the Queen of Hearts. Brittany had been Freemont High's head cheerleader. Amazing, Pat thought, after all these years, she could pass for one of the Queens herself. Realizing Gray had sidled unexpectedly close, she sucked in a quick breath. Picture in hand, she tried to back up, but the piano stopped her, bringing her almost into Gray's strong arms.
"A football player and a cheerleader," he murmured, taking the picture and setting it aside. "What a cliché, huh?"
"Fat," she countered, her own voice strangely unsteady. What in the world was wrong with him? Why wouldn't he ever admit how fat she'd been? Before she could ask, the questions vanished. Tingling sensations started darting from his fingertips to her hips, as if he were Zeus and his fingers were shooting out lightning bolts. She couldn't take much more of this.
He said, "Now you look like Brittany."
She could barely find her voice. "You married Brittany."
"I wised up and divorced her."
"Maybe I wanted to look like Brittany," she confessed.
He frowned. "You? Why?"
"Because they slept with sexy ball players like you."
His lips parted, just slightly, and his breath looked labored. "Is that what you want, Pat? To sleep with me?"
Was she really going to sleep with a man who'd inspired her every hot fantasy since she was a teenager? She'd thought about this seduction for years — it was the main reason she'd come to Denver — and yet strangely, when she spoke, she sounded surprised, as if she'd plucked the word from thin air, like magic. "Yes."
The next heartbeat seemed to last forever. His fingers drifted downward on her hips, suddenly tightened, and pulled her closer. "Well," he agreed hoarsely, right before his mouth angled down and swept across hers, "we'd better go find a bed."
Pat shot him a lopsided grin. "I'll forgive you."
It would be hard not to, since Brittany had left after Gray hadn't been drafted into the pros. How could Brittany have been so shallow? And what woman in her right mind would leave Gray? He hadn't changed. Standing before Pat, he made her heart race just as he had in high school. Her eyes settled on his sweater; it looked like cashmere, seductively inviting, deceptively soft. The hard wall of his chest rippled as he moved an inch nearer.
She swallowed hard, unable to believe the traitorous reactions of her body. All evening, she'd felt like a teenager again, her raging hormones going wild. She fought the urge to slick her palms down the sides of a dress she probably shouldn't have worn for him, and she was conscious of the impression she was making, an impression boldly registering in his smoky green eyes. Her red silk swathed breasts were fuller than most women's, and a deep slit rose high on her left thigh. The air seemed charged with things Pat had long felt for this man, and she tried to suppress the unwanted longing, the flood of desire, the heart-crushing pining she'd sometimes thought would drive her mad, especially when she was younger....
Blowing out a shaky breath, she braced herself. She was supposed to take the upper hand! Ever since Gray had asked to use her mother's dessert recipes in the restaurant he'd opened, she'd been hoping to see him again, and her editor was right. It was time she learned to enjoy men...to let go of those old feelings about being too heavy and unappealing to attract a man like Gray.
Reminding herself that she looked every bit as good as his ex, Pat rested her fingertips on the sweater, biting back a shiver when she registered the buttery softness, the hard chest beneath. Yes, tonight she was going to sleep with Gray. If the only long-term outcome was nailing down the final chapter of The Total Pat, she'd live. In fact, she'd do just about anything for this one night of bliss. Besides, knowing it would inspire her readers, she wanted to document at least one successful, triumphant experience with a man. Which meant she'd better get some experience.
Gray was watching her carefully, as if waiting for her next move, so she took a deep breath, bolstering her confidence. "Have you seen anybody since Brittany?"
"Nobody serious."
"You've been divorced a while...."
Awareness glinted in his eyes. "A while."
Her mind went blank.
Looking like the ocean under strong sunlight, his hot green eyes were lancing into hers now. He said, "You?"
She had no idea what he was talking about. She was aware only of his close proximity, his tall, strong body, and of the enticing scent of his spicy aftershave. "Me?"
He chuckled. "Yeah. You. Any men?"
Blood was rushing in her ears. The hell with it, she thought, tired of being such a wimp. Go for broke.
"Tonight?" she murmured, her voice intentionally husky.
"Is that an invitation?"
"What do you think?"
He took a final step, closing the distance between them, and when she felt a thick lock of golden hair graze her cheek, her throat tightened. Leaning back, he glanced over his shoulder, toward a window and the carriage house where she used to live. "When did you first get interested in me?"
"Birth."
"You didn't know me then."
"High school. I spied on you from the carriage house."
A flicker of a smile touched his lips. "I spied back," he admitted in a seductive whisper as his hands circled her waist. They were large, warm, and dark...gentle hands that sent sensations rippling into her. A wave of longing followed as he tilted his hips, his whipcord body pressuring her through the fabric of the dress. He was gazing down, into her eyes, the look searing and deep. "C'mon," he added. "You must have broken a few hearts by now."
She bit back frustration. "You know what I looked like in high school."
His voice was rough with arousal. "Yeah. I remember exactly what you looked like. Cute as hell."
Gray knew better than to give into lust. Judging from Pat's honed-to-perfection body, not to mention how easily she'd come on to him at dinner, as if a quick affair wouldn't faze her in the least, Pat had about as much substance as Brittany, which was to say, zip.
Nevertheless, he was finally doing what he'd wanted to in high school — kissing sweet, innocent Pat. Except Pat wasn't so sweet anymore. And her kiss was hardly innocent. No, it was wickedly spicy, like whiskey laced with cinnamon, and the way her hips tilted up to his was such pure sin that he moaned, every inch of him aching in a slow burn of hot need.
His palms left her impossibly narrow waist to cup shoulders as soft as the red silk dress she'd worn tonight to seduce him, and he kept kissing her — hard, deep — until she shivered; when he leaned back, it wasn't far enough to break contact with the breasts cushioning his chest, or the fingers lacing around his neck, or the slender thigh pressing against his. Through his slacks, he could feel garters, and he knew he'd lose his mind if he started imagining the sexy belt that was attached to them.
Whatever remained of his breath was taken away when he glanced down where milky shadows of cleavage were banked by a dangerous dip of red.
"Pat," he murmured, feeling he'd explode at the vision of the neckline, his whisper hoarse, as if he'd already spent the night sharing her bed. "I've wanted to do this for years."
As soon as he murmured the words against her mouth, he could have kicked himself. Pat's behavior said she was out for a one-night stand, so this was hardly the time for confessions. Besides, when Gray didn't get drafted into the pros and his ex left him, he'd made a pact to never again get involved with women who weren't more down-to-earth. He considered the expensive scent of Pat's perfume, her designer dress, her artfully arranged hair — and he realized that if he had any common sense, he'd lean away, end the kiss, step from the embrace....
But she was nuzzling his mouth. "Wanted to do what?"
"Kiss you."
"For years?" Her voice was dreamy, but she sounded unconvinced. How, Gray didn't know. Her lipstick was gone, eaten off by a hungry mouth that had employed the good old-fashioned way of making hers redder, damper, and more plump. Since she was a good four inches shorter despite the red heels, she was gazing up at him when her green eyes started begging, come kiss me again.
What the hell. This was just for tonight. Two adults sharing some pleasure. A single woman. A divorced man. No promises. No strings. Pat had become quite the sophisticate in most areas of her life, so it was no wonder that her sophistication seemed to extend to the bedroom. Gray just wished he hadn't liked her so much back in high school...that, tonight, he hadn't secretly been hoping for more.
Widening his lips into a slow, seductive grin, he leaned in and complied, parting her warm, wet lips. As his tongue flicked inside, Pat released a soft moan that sent heat rippling into his blood. "You drove me crazy," he whispered between kisses, remembering the agony he'd felt.
Her soft green eyes were liquid with desire. "I spied on you at night," Pat confessed huskily.
Doubtful. He'd never noticed any lustful glances in the past, but it was obvious Pat knew how to play pillow-talk games, which was good. Gray liked pillow talk. "Really?" he prompted, willing to hear details, even if she was lying.
Teasing lights sparkled in her eyes as she ran her index finger along his jaw, then stroked his lips. "Why didn't a big football player like you act on his attraction?"
Because he'd never gotten any real encouragement. "Ah." His lips curled with humor. "Answering a question with a question?"
"Why not?"
"You were 15," he reminded dryly. "Jailbait. Besides, I was a senior."
Before she could respond, his lips found hers again. Once he'd gotten his first taste of this woman, he couldn't stop kissing her. But why couldn't Pat remember herself in high school the way he did?
She must have worked hard to take off the extra pounds, but she'd gone overboard. She was gorgeous, sure. But her waist was so teensy that his two huge hands could circle it. Her hair was pretty now, too. It was 10 kinds of blond; everything from gold to white shot through the strands as if sunlight had decided to follow her everywhere she went. It was layered around her cheeks and jaw. Still, Gray had liked her hair the way it used to be — honey-blond and hanging loose around her shoulders. In high school, while the more competitive girls had been busy stealing each other's boyfriends, Pat had been making lasting friendships with girls like Sunny, M.J., Kelly, and Isabella. And then she'd run off to New York.
"I know you don't get it, Pat —" He leaned away, his eyes lasing into hers. "But even back then, you looked like a girl who'd kiss the way you just did." When he glanced down, he could see her nipples had beaded, looking hard, tight, and immensely appealing against the red fabric of the dress.
Her words sounded hoarse. "Kiss how?"
"Like this." He tasted another sample, probing her lips, and before he could pull away, she gave him a burning kiss that left him throbbing. "Breasts," he whispered softly as he brushed his lower lip across hers. "When it came to that, those skinny girls couldn't begin to compete with you."
Pat laughed, the sound so girlish that, for a second, it was as if the past 10 years had never happened at all. "Your mind was in the gutter, Gray."
"Nothing like now," he assured, dropping his hands to her waist, drawing her that last fraction closer, so she'd feel how much he needed her. "Dammit," he cursed softly. "You're sexy as hell, Pat."
A twinge in her voice said she was enjoying her female power over him. "Is that what you think?"
Feeling his aroused body, how could she ask? "Yeah."
Her eyes held his. "Prove it, Gray."
"I like a challenge," he returned. This time, his mouth was languorous with intent, maddening in its explorations. Her hands, tentative at first, grew bolder as they molded his hips. After long moments, he grasped her fingers and stepped back. She looked amazing, draped in red, her skin flushed with anticipation. The old Pat Turner was the kind of woman an average guy would want to marry. This vixen was the kind who knew how to make a guy beg in the bedroom. He stepped back another pace, and when she followed, he didn't stop until they were upstairs, standing in front of his bed.
"It's nice up here," she murmured.
Venetian blinds fluttered in the night air coming through an open window, and as he urged her onto the bed, he glimpsed a black sky and bright stars that made the tree leaves shimmer like silver. Her voice shouldn't have gotten under his skin, but it had. Dammit, every inch of her was setting him on fire, but she'd sounded so cool and calm. Gray didn't want her sophistication now. He wanted to see her coming apart at the seams, the way he felt.
She'd been right, of course. The room was sensual, but their surroundings hardly mattered. Nothing mattered except Pat.
Slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, he removed her shoes. Then her dress. He didn't bother to hold back a soft grunt of male appreciation when he saw what was beneath — a low-cut white lace bra that nearly revealed taut nipples...a matching lace garter belt. Her panties — front and back white satin panels tied together by two bows — intrigued him the most. "Ah," he offered simply, his husky voice catching as he pulled the strings and watched the fabric melt away like butter.
Despite the vision before him, his heart suddenly squeezed. Dammit, there it was again. The wish that tonight had played out differently. That Pat Turner had shown up on his doorstep, still looking like the unpretentious, fresh-faced girl he'd known in high school. He sighed. She wasn't that girl anymore. And the fact remained: He definitely wanted the woman she'd become. He was edgy with need. Heat was exploding inside him, demanding he take what he most wanted. Rising, he stripped the sweater from his broad back as he walked into the next room to get a condom.
When he returned, she'd removed her bra. He stopped near the bed, his arousal unbearable. "Who thought the night would turn out like this?" he asked softly, rhetorically.
She smiled. "I hoped."
He shucked his pants while she watched, her eyes steady, her breath catching as he leaned to capture her mouth. Her exposed nipples beaded as his open palms brushed them; every inch of his skin tingled as his fingers curled...plucked...tested...teased. His heart was pounding as he readied himself and glided between legs she easily opened for him. Too easily, he thought, then pushed away thoughts of the men he imagined she'd dated in New York.
She was still wearing stockings, and something about that — the cool plastic of garters against his hips, the change in texture from the silk of stockings to the silk of her thighs — was more than Gray could stand. He didn't thrust so much as sink into her, and when he did, he shut his eyes. As he drew her tightly to him, she became the girl he remembered — pleasantly plump with long honey hair and the smile that had stolen his heart. He drove into her then, blinded by desire and urged deeper by the legs wrapping around his waist. She was amazingly tight. Sensations staggered him as her mouth locked to his in a breathless kiss. She was so silent, so urgent. Too soon, he heard her cry of exploding pleasure. The surprised shudder pulled a release from him, along with her softly uttered name; when he opened his eyes, he realized the most astonishing climax of his life was over — and that he was staring down at a woman he felt he barely knew anymore.
It shouldn't have mattered. In the past, he'd made love to women he'd only wanted physically. But this was Pat. He'd expected her to show up in Denver looking like her old self, not some cover model. He'd imagined laughing over old times and maybe visiting her mom, not letting Pat seduce him as if she did it with a new man every day of the week.
"I knew it would be good," she whispered.
That rankled. "You always rate your lovers the second afterward?"
The gym-honed muscles of her creamy thighs tensed under his. "You make it sound as if you're just another notch on my belt, Gray."
Why couldn't he back down? "Am I?"
Hands that gently cupped his shoulders prepared to push. Soft green eyes made to make a man melt were turning to steel. "I don't know what's changed your mood," she said, huskiness tingeing her voice. "But I think you better get off me."
As he rolled to the side, he realized how badly he'd blown it years ago. The teenager he'd known had been the woman of his dreams, and he'd never even known it until Pat Turner showed up at his restaurant looking like his too-well-put-together ex-wife. "Look," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I can explain —"
"I don't want an explanation," she said succinctly as she pulled on the red dress, not bothering with underclothes, as if she couldn't escape fast enough. "I want to leave."
He watched her shove her feet into shoes, feeling torn. Common sense told him to let her go. She had a whole other life these days with a promising career in New York. He should put Pat Turner where she belonged — in his past. But something overrode common sense, and he rose from the bed, standing between her and the door. "Wait a minute," he said. "You're not going anywhere."
Turning, she grabbed her bra and panties, stuffed them into a tiny purse, then sent him one last piercing glance over her shoulder and said, "Wanna bet?"
Pat strode toward the door, intent on escaping Gray's bedroom before he saw she was blinking back tears. All night, she'd been trying so hard to prove she'd become the kind of woman he'd always seemed to want when they were in high school. It had worked, too — enough to get the man into bed. At least she hadn't admitted she'd been a virgin. That was information Gray Lee was never going to get.
"Stop," he said simply.
She kept moving. "Why?" As soon as their lovemaking ended, he'd all but implied that Pat slept with a new man every night of the week. Now, she'd never tell him he'd been the first.
"I want to talk."
Feeling her open purse bounce against her side, she reached down, further shoved her bra and panties inside, then shut the clasp. "You should have thought of that a minute ago."
Her flesh was still quivering from the accomplished way he'd loved her. Her heart was pounding, too, further flooding her with the sweet, heavenly heat he'd stoked inside her. She was fighting the strange, squeezing ache claiming her heart when he caught her wrist and spun her around. She drew a sharp breath. He hadn't bothered with clothes, and just looking at him made her painfully conscious of her own body, naked beneath the red dress she'd grabbed from the floor and rapidly put on. "What do you want?" she managed.
"Let me apologize."
Oh, she wanted him to. But the second they'd finished making love he'd attacked her, if subtly. "I don't think so, Gray." She felt like such a fool; she wished the floor would open and swallow her. Deep down, she'd held expectations for tonight that she hadn't dared admit. Now, she couldn't leave fast enough. "I have to go."
"Hear me out," he said. "For old times' sake?"
Why did his voice have to be so soft and husky, reminding her of how he'd sounded moments ago when he was whispering her name in passion?
Glancing down, she took in what she'd worn tonight — the dress and heels. In her bag was the lingerie she'd bought with the sole intention of driving Gray Lee to distraction. She only wished she really were the woman she'd hoped to project. She might have some college degrees and write a syndicated advice column, but inside, where it counted most, she was still "Fat Pat" Turner, whom the popular girls had mocked in high school.
Gray's hand tightened on her wrist, and when he edged closer, she became far too aware of the waves of heat emanating from his sleek bronzed skin and taut hard muscles. Her knees weakened.
"I'm sorry, Pat," he said, his breath softly catching, "but tonight, you weren't what I expected. You've changed...."
"And that's an excuse for your rudeness?" She was appalled. "You're blaming me?"
He leaned nearer, bringing even more heat. "That's not what I meant." His words were an enticing growl.
She tried not to think of the grueling hours she'd spent preparing for a night such as this — exercising and dieting until she was a perfect size six. "If you didn't like how I've changed, Gray, you shouldn't have slept with me," she said succinctly, glad to hear her own steady voice. "And," she added, encouraged by how unaffected she sounded, "10 minutes ago —" Her breath caught as she pushed away memories — the tight, possessive feel of his arms wrapping around her, the starbursts of impossible pleasure exploding inside her. "Ten minutes ago," she repeated, "you weren't exactly complaining, were you, Gray?"
"No, I wasn't," he conceded, his eyes flicking from her face to the plunging neckline of her dress as he lifted a finger and traced it on her shoulder, seemingly enjoying the feel of the fabric, despite their argument. "I wasn't complaining at all —" His voice turned even huskier. "You showed up dressed for sin. You did everything you could to make sure you'd wind up..." He glanced toward the wildly tangled mess of covers and pillows. "In my bed. You came on to me all night. On the phone before we met. During dinner. On the drive here."
It was true. She'd gauged the effect of the red dress, the soft fabric, the show of cleavage. She'd subtly hiked the hem as she crossed her legs, hoping Gray's eyes would be drawn to the slit that exposed her thigh. Despite the truth of his words, she couldn't stop the anger coursing through her, though. She'd wanted this fool man since she was a teenager, and finally she'd slept with him — only to have the whole night ruined. Dammit, what had she wanted? she wondered, fighting a wave of panic. Breakfast in bed tomorrow? The New York Times and a cinnamon-laced latte? A lifetime of sweet nothings? How had she supposed a one-night stand with Gray would get him out of her system? Or that she was just using him to get necessary material for the last chapter of the book she was writing?
"I see," she managed. "A woman breezed into your life in a tight red dress and you simply couldn't resist."
"Not just any woman, Pat. You."
Gray sounded none too happy about it.
"You say that as if you think I'm somehow worse than most," said Pat.
"Maybe you are," he murmured, his green eyes focused intently on hers, his voice turning strangely rough with words that made her cheeks flame. "Maybe you are." She tried not to notice that, despite their argument, the man was becoming aroused again. Even worse, her body tingled with a traitorous response. "Admit it," he continued, his voice lowering yet another notch, into a silken purr more suited to pillow talk. "You decided to seduce me before we even met for dinner, didn't you, Pat?"
Her chin rose. "What if I did?"
"In the past, you weren't like that, Pat."
Right. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been 15, fat, and lovesick; he had no idea how she'd fantasized about him, dreaming of a night such as this, when she'd wind up making love with him. "Like what?"
Abruptly dragging a hand through his tousled golden hair, he blew out a soft curse. "You know what I mean."
"I was heavy, Gray. The other girls made fun of me."
"You looked great," he countered, a thread of impatient anger in his words. "And you had friends. Great friends. Sunny, M.J., Kelly, and Isabella..."
Guilt assaulted her. Right this instant, she was well aware her girlfriends were at M.J.'s, sharing wine and cheesecake — and hoping Pat would call with gossip about Gray. All four women wished tonight would go exactly the way Pat wanted it to. They'd supported each other for years. "What have my friends got to do with this?"
"Please," he muttered. "Just look at how some of the kids in my crowd turned out. You and your friends got on with your lives after high school. Everything wasn't handed to you on a silver platter. You knew you'd have to work for whatever you got. Sunny became a CEO, and now she's running her own business. M.J.'s an investigative reporter. Kelly's a lawyer, and Isabella's a model. In high school, Isabella couldn't even get a date because her looks were too exotic. Now people pay her megabucks to be on magazine covers."
She swallowed hard, her eyes softening as she thought of her buddies. "You've got a point." Inside her chest, her heart lurched. All at once, she felt powerless, except to say what was most on her mind. "Nevertheless, the tight end for the Freemont Conquerors dated all the skinny cheerleaders, didn't he?"
"He married one, too," conceded Gray.
There. She'd won her point.
But Gray only stared at her a long, steady moment, and when he spoke, his voice was pungent with desire. "He might have married a cheerleader, Pat. But he wanted you." Registering the doubt in her eyes, he hauled her closer, making her gasp when she felt how ready he was to love her again.
"Did he?" she croaked.
"Yeah. Like I said, you were years younger. But my happiest memories are of hanging out with you after school. I loved the kids your mom baby-sat...the snacks she used to make for us."
"That's hardly the same as desire, Gray."
"Maybe what I felt for you was even more important than desire."
The admission took her breath. Could he really mean it? "You cared for me?"
"Yes. And I wanted more. That's why I was so mad tonight. I used to fantasize about you, Pat. I was...hoping when you came back to town that you'd be the same old you. I wanted us to have fun. Joke around. I hoped we could start building a relationship on the way we used to be together."
"Even if I was heavy?"
"You looked great to me, Pat," he said again.
"And you wanted to get to know me?"
He nodded. "But when you showed up, looking like you just stepped out of the pages of Vogue magazine, it threw me...."
She barely noticed the backhanded compliment. Her heart was hammering too hard. "I'm the same person, Gray. Really."
His lips parted. He was starting to smile. He was staring down into her face, too, his eyes roving over her features as if she might vanish. His arms tightened around her waist, bringing her flush against him, so that nothing was between them but the soft, barely there fabric of her dress. "Show me, Pat," he murmured, a soft groan of desire escaping his parted lips. "Let me get to know you again, starting right now."
Was Gray really suggesting they spend time together? As both friends and lovers? Had his earlier bitterness truly been because he already cared for her — and feared she'd changed?
"Let's make this just like old times," she agreed, her heart singing, since the relationship she wanted might be within her reach.
"Not exactly like old times," he corrected, reminding her that they were lovers now.
"How do you want to start?"
"I think you know." And with that, Gray stepped backward, urging Pat toward the bed they'd just vacated, a bed that promised unheard-of pleasures....
When two people weathered high school crushes, then reconnected as adults and made every spicy hot fantasy come true for two blissful weeks, and then, when one was headed back to another city the next day, what was the other supposed to do?
It was too soon to propose, Gray decided. Obviously. But, realistically, how long could two people maintain a New York–Denver fling? The only option was to talk over the issue, but Gray wasn't sure of his level of commitment.
What he'd experienced during his brief marriage to Brittany couldn't hold a candle to what he felt now for Pat, of course. Ever since she'd returned to Denver, she'd been playing it cool, though. Oh, she was wild for him in bed. And they'd had a blast — spending time alone, as well as with her mother and her friends. But Pat hadn't mentioned the future, despite his confession to her weeks ago, when he'd said he cared about her and wanted to get to know her again. Hadn't she realized he'd meant with an eye to cultivating a longer-term relationship? If so, why hadn't she brought it up again? Should he take her silence to mean she'd decided to pass on continuing their affair?
Sighing, Gray pulled the silver convertible into her mother's driveway. Probably, he should make a U-turn and go home, but Pat had a way of stripping his common sense as swiftly as his clothes. He surveyed the house. Every spare minute, when Pat wasn't busy catching up with her girlfriends — Sunny, M.J., Kelly, and Isabella — Gray had been tussling with her under silk sheets.
And she's leaving tomorrow.
He couldn't let her go. That was his first thought when he'd awakened this morning to find Pat gone from bed. He figured she'd returned to her mother's, but now that he was here, eyeing the back bumper of her rented Ford Taurus, he was no clearer about how to handle the new-and-improved, slimmed-down version of Pat Turner. She claimed she hadn't changed, but New York living, not to mention the weight loss and other changes in her appearance, as well as having her advice column syndicated nationwide, had given Pat more confidence. Enough to seduce him. But had she become self-assured enough to enjoy an affair such as theirs, then simply leave town?
It looked that way, Gray thought grimly, riffling a hand through the wavy gold strands of his hair as he got out of the car and headed up a curving brick sidewalk toward her mother's front door. Or maybe Pat, like Gray, had simply been assuming they'd start sharing steamy long-distance phone calls. Maybe she figured Gray would fly to New York on weekends while she finished her doctoral work at Columbia University. After her dissertation was accepted, would she consider returning to Denver to live, so they could date?
Gray wished he knew. And he wished he knew why she was so closemouthed about the book she was writing. At first, he'd thought that Pat presumed that an ex-football player wouldn't be interested in woman's issues, but Pat should know him better than that. He'd been a tight end for the Freemont Conquerors, sure. But because he owned one of Denver's trendiest restaurants, an eatery he intended to franchise, he'd recently been named one of the city's top-10 businesspersons. Work was one of many places he and Pat connected.
In the past, Gray would have asked Pat why. But given her assertiveness, he wanted to give her plenty of space. Loving the new Pat without selling the old one short was a fine, precarious line, but Gray was walking it. She'd been heavy at 15, sure, but he'd preferred to call her pleasantly plump. She'd had a gorgeous face, too, soft green eyes that had made his heart melt.
His groin tightened, and to distract himself, he glanced at the fenced-in yard, the freshly mown grass, jungle gym, sandbox and swing set. The spacious two-story home was a far cry from the tiny stone carriage house Betty had rented years ago. Like mother, like daughter, Gray thought proudly of Pat's and Betty's unstoppable entrepreneurial skills. The day care Betty had begun in the carriage house was now a thriving business; the waiting list for kids to get in was a mile long, and she'd quickly earned the money to buy this place. The same list that had identified Gray as a top-10 entrepreneur had named Betty, also.
"Betty?" Gray called through the screen door as he knocked on the wood frame. "You home?"
"Gray?" A voice traveled downstairs. "Is that you?"
"How'd you guess?"
"I'd recognize that sexy baritone anywhere. You've been driving my daughter crazy with it for years."
That was promising. "You have insider information?"
"Anything more, you'll have to ask Pat. And if you came over to try to force me to take money for those recipes, you might as well turn right around and go home to that huge mansion you live in without a woman."
Gray chuckled softly. Betty kept refusing to let him pay for the recipes for the much-sought-after-desserts at The Fifty Yard Line, but Gray wouldn't back down once he franchised. Betty might not know it yet, but Gray intended to make her one very rich woman. It was the least he could do for stealing away her only daughter, something else Gray intended to do.
"No offense, Betty. I do think you're the hottest lady in Denver. But actually, I came for Pat. Is she around?"
"Nope. And I can't come down. I'm not dressed yet," Betty returned. "You'll have to let yourself in, okay? Pat should be back any second. Sunny picked her up — they were meeting M.J., Kelly, and Isabella at Polly's Pancake House for breakfast — and most of the girls have got to be at work by eight, so Pat's due back home. I've got kids coming in about 15 minutes."
"I don't want to interfere."
"You're not. Why don't you wait in the sunroom? She's been working out there," Betty added. "On that book she's writing. On your way through the kitchen, you'll find fresh coffee on the counter. It's Hawaiian Kona mixed with vanilla beans. You'll like it."
"Love it," Gray corrected, following Betty's suggestion to let himself inside. "I can smell it from here."
As he headed for the sunroom, Gray realized how much he'd missed being a part of Pat's and Betty's lives. Though the rental house had been smaller, the carpet threadbare, and the furniture of lesser quality than the main house, the Turner women had filled the place with the only genuine warmth Gray had known as a teen.
When he reached it, he couldn't resist leafing through the papers Pat had spread over a table. "Notes for her book," he murmured. As he began to read, his chest tightened. "No wonder she's not talking."
The book, The Total Pat, documented the changes Pat had undergone since high school. Pictures were stuffed haphazardly in open files — one marked "before," the other "after." Anger coiled inside him. Pat had chosen such unflattering pictures! Where had she even found them? Dammit, she'd been a heavy girl, but in the photos, she looked...bad. Real bad. She was hyping herself up as a real loser in high school....
And the notes! Some were mere jottings; other ideas were more developed. "Let go of your old self," said one. "Explain how I wrote down the things I hated most about myself, put the notes into a box, and threw the box away."
Gray was stunned. How could Pat — his Pat — hate anything about herself? As far as he was concerned, this was the worst kind of pandering. She'd been a great kid.
Turning another page, he sucked in a sharp breath. "How does a previous fat girl, the butt of school jokes, try to get her love life off the ground once she slims down?" His lips parting in astonishment, he stared at the detailed notes about the dates she'd had with him over the past two weeks. One note said: "Go into what it's like to confront your high school crush on the popular football player you knew you'd never date!"
So that's what she'd been doing? Using him as material for a book that, given the success of her advice column, was bound to hit national bestsellers' lists. It explained why Pat hadn't bothered to keep in touch over the years, why she hadn't wanted to talk about the book, and why she hadn't seemed concerned about not keeping in touch with him after tomorrow, when she was scheduled to fly back to New York.
He hadn't heard the door open, or the footsteps in the hallway, but Gray was suddenly aware of Pat, standing behind him, studying his back with those deceptively sweet eyes.
Her voice was tight. "Having fun reading my notes?"
Slowly he turned to face the "new Pat." Salon-perfect blond hair feathered around her face, and she looked remarkably slender in fitted gray slacks and a cream-colored cashmere sweater set, the cardigan to which was slung around her neck, the sleeves tied casually in a knot between ample breasts.
"A half hour ago, I was in love with you," Gray found himself saying roughly, his own words taking him by surprise, as did the sudden impulse to hurt her. His body moved of its own accord, not stopping until she backed against the door, as if to escape him. When he was close enough to make her good and uncomfortable, he said, "I came here thinking I might propose." He glanced toward the papers on the table. "But it looks as if you've been using me."
Her voice shook. "Gray, you weren't supposed to read —"
"I'll bet I wasn't."
"I can explain."
"Well," he offered. "You'd better start."
Two weeks ago, losing her virginity to Gray Lee had seemed like a perfect idea to Pat. Brilliant, in fact. In high school, he’d been the Freemont Conquerors’ sexiest player and destined for the pros. He’d been as broad-shouldered and tautly muscled as he was today, too. The years hadn’t changed him, not the way he wore his wavy gold hair, which was slicked back, nor the style of his clothes — a navy V-neck sweater and conservative tan slacks. Then and now, Gray was amazing. A sleek, well-muscled blond god.
And my friend, Pat thought, her heart aching as she stared up at him. Even wearing heels, she couldn’t meet his gaze; he was towering above her, his green eyes glowering.
Her mind raced back to their conversation two weeks ago. For an instant, she’d really believed he’d always cared for her, that he wasn’t merely being nice when he’d hung around with her in high school. Ever since, she’d taken every ounce of pleasure she could from their affair, but she had to let go of it now. If he’d meant for it to continue, he’d have said so. Besides, he was furious at the moment. And tomorrow, she was headed back to New York, to the life she’d carved out for herself over the past 10 years.
"Start explaining," he finally suggested, his voice low.
She glanced toward the stacks of papers and files on the table, then she looked once more into those devastating green eyes, feeling pinned to the wall even though he wasn’t actually touching her. Instead of defending herself, since he’d caught her using the notes about their love affair for the book she was writing, she managed to say, "You came over here this morning thinking you might propose to me? Is that what you said, Gray?" Had she really heard him correctly? It had taken a full minute for her mind to catch up to the words.
"Your mother’s house seemed the logical place to find you," he returned noncommittally, "when I woke up and realized you’d left my bed."
It was against the grain of Pat’s liberated impulses — she was a nationally known columnist dealing with women’s issues, for heaven’s sake! — but still, she felt a sudden rush of satisfaction hearing Gray’s possessive tone.
"I had to leave this morning." Her voice softened. "I didn’t want to wake you, Gray."
"Well, I’m awake now."
In fact, he looked very, very awake. His eyes were as sharp as tacks, their awareness almost predatory. "I had breakfast with the girls," she further explained, as if that might take some of the flashing anger from his eyes.
"The girls," he muttered almost jealously, dragging a splayed hand through hair Pat knew to be as soft as silk.
"Yeah. The girls. I had breakfast with Sunny, M. J., Kelly, and Isabella."
"Do they know about this?"
"That we made love?"
His eyes pierced hers. "That you came back to Denver for the express purpose of seducing me?" he countered in what was closer to the truth. "And that you’ve got a book deal riding on this?" Gray cursed softly under his breath. "It’s all right there, in your notes, Pat. I read everything."
His eyes trailed to the table once more, taking in open file folders, crammed with pictures documenting the changes in her over the years, her weight loss and fitness program, all the before and after pictures. "Before your dissertation’s accepted, your advisor wanted you to write something about your changed prospects with men, isn’t that right?" he challenged with deceptive evenness. "And the publisher you’ve got lined up wants that, too."
"You’re making it sound as if I waltzed into Denver, seduced you, and did so for the sole purpose of making a name for myself," Pat defended, trying to control her temper.
"You’re saying you didn’t?"
"That’s exactly what I’m saying." It hurt that these weeks of lovemaking hadn’t affected him more. Earlier, Pat had slung a cashmere cardigan around her neck and knotted the sleeves casually in front of her; now, realizing she was slicking her shaking hands down the sides of her gray slacks, she brought her hands upward and fiddled with the knot.
"I’ve hardly been using you, Gray. You know me better than that."
His eyes flicked over her. "Do I <I>really</I>?"
"Given that we’ve been sharing a bed, that’s insulting." Blood was rushing in her ears, and her heart was pounding a million miles a minute, so fast it seemed to leap into her throat and lodge there. Her mind was reeling, especially since Gray was so close.
"So, that’s what this is all about, Pat," he murmured.
She didn’t like where this was heading, and she wanted to protest, to say he’d misunderstood, that she hadn’t been dating him with any ulterior motive. But that would be a lie. "You’ve got it all wrong."
He slowly shook his head. "I don’t think so. You came back to Denver, a huge success story. Sixty pounds lighter, the author of a nationally syndicated advice column for women, which is about to bring you a book contract —"
"I admit it," Pat swiftly cut in, a slow burn of surfacing anger taking her by complete surprise. "I expected to wow the people who’d treated me badly in the past."
"Like who?" Gray scoffed, his eyes daring her to say more. " My ex-wife, Brittany?"
"For one." Images of school hallways came rushing back, the chanting voices of Freemont High’s head cheerleaders, the Four Queens. Fat Pat, you sure can’t miss her, but does she really think Gray Lee’s gonna kiss her?
"Pat," Gray said, "Brittany’s a lost soul these days. Just the kind of woman I should have known would leave me when I didn’t make the pros. And Ashley...you saw her. She reads your column like it’s manual for living. She’ll do anything she can to hang on to Ace, a man she doesn’t even love anymore — and all because neither of them can admit their glory days are over. Those girls you’re so sure were your arch-nemeses aren’t doing nearly as well as you 10 years after graduation. Ace peaked like I did, back in high school, playing for the Conquerors."
Pat was stunned. "You didn’t peak, Gray. Have you lost your mind?"
"Maybe," he conceded. "But I hustled after I didn’t make the pros. Meantime, you weren’t the sad-sack case you’re making yourself out to be in the book." Somehow, his long, strong arm had wound up above her, bringing his well-honed hard torso close, reminding her of how he looked sans the navy sweater, sexy as hell with a thick thatch of golden hair erupting between perfectly formed pecs. "You were great," he murmured, this time angling his head farther downward, as if he might kiss her, not that he would — definitely not now, maybe never again. "We had fun, Pat."
"You don’t know what it was like for me," she defended, her heart missing a beat at his proximity. "You were popular, Gray. A tight end for the Conquerors. Everyone wanted to hang around with you. You were nice to me, but you were dating Brittany —"
"You were 15!"
"I know, but —"
"I was a senior!"
"And I was freshman, but —"
"You’re driving me crazy, Pat," he muttered, the light coming into his eyes suggesting that he, too, realized how physically close they’d gotten. "I feel like I don’t know you anymore."
She fought the pleading in her tone. "I’m the same, Gray. Exactly the same."
"That’s what you tried to tell me two weeks ago." He shook his head. "But in this book you’re writing, you’re selling out our past, Pat."
"My past was about more than just us." Gray Lee had been the bright spot, the stolen moment of pleasure.
"You’re making yourself out to be an overweight geek."
"I <I>was</I> an overweight geek."
"What do Sunny, M.J., Kelly, and Isabella have to say about that?" he shot back. "And your mom? Did it ever occur to you that a lot of people loved you just the way you were?"
Her lips parted. "Fat?"
"Don’t twist my words around, Pat. You’ve proven you’re damn good at that, since you’re a writer."
She could barely find her voice. "Did you, Gray?"
He was glaring at her. "What?"
The words were a near whisper. "Love me just the way I was?"
His eyes said he’d been trying to convince her of that for weeks, but his lips stayed mute. Finally, he said, "Would it matter?"
More than anything in the world! Gray was her everything. Her sun, moon, stars. Her dream lover. "How could it not?"
"Because," he said, bringing his lips a bare fraction from hers. "If it mattered you wouldn’t be using our love affair to get your publishing career off the ground. And you definitely would have told me when we slept together the first time that you’d never been with a man before."
So, he’d seen that note in her files, too. Heat filled her cheeks, warming them. "I’m sorry," she whispered.
"You should be."
When he turned to go, she impulsively grasped his sleeve, hoping to hang on to him. "Gray, don’t."
"I have to go."
She didn’t want to beg. "Stay."
He looked at her a long moment, then he simply repeated, "Sorry, Pat, but I just don’t know you anymore. You really have changed. Not just the way you look. Deep down, where it counts."
And then he was gone, leaving Pat to wonder if she’d heard him right. When she’d first entered the room, had he really said he’d come here to propose marriage?
Pat cast her eyes around the room. She didn’t have enough experience with men to trust her instincts, not when it came to her next move with Gray Lee. Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out her cell phone, jabbed in a number and, somehow, waited through the endless ringing. "Sunny," she said when the phone clicked on. "It’s Pat. I know we just had breakfast, but can you do lunch?"
"Is everything okay?"
"Tell you over a margarita," said Pat.
And then she called M.J., Kelly, and Isabella.
Right about now, Pat needed help. But could her best friends provide it?
"You shouldn't be wasting brain power on men, anyway," advised Sunny Jones. "As we approach 30, we have fewer brain cells to play with. We need to conserve. Besides, you're only visiting Denver, Pat. You live in New York. You've got a syndicated column, and you're about to publish a book. This is no time to be slowed down by heartbreak. What could you possibly need men for anyway?"
"What do you think?" Pat quipped with confidence she didn't feel at the moment. From across the umbrella-shaded table at a trendy Cuban eatery, Pat sent her friend a long, sideways glance.
Sunny shrugged. "As of two weeks ago you were still a virgin," she reminded.
"Pat's right. Men have their moments," added M. J.. before glancing around the table at their other best friends from high school — Kelly and Isabella. All the women had agreed to meet Pat for lunch to help straighten out her trouble with Gray. Because they had to work, lunch hadn't lasted long — only one margarita — and now the four were on sinfully gooey desserts nearly as good as those Pat's mother spent her spare time concocting.
"Gray's a high school crush," said Kelly. "That's all he is, right, Pat?"
"Well...he was."
Kelly frowned. "And now?"
Pat shrugged helplessly, scooping up a rich spoonful of mouth-melting chocolate cake. Losing the extra 60 pounds she'd carried in high school had been grueling, and usually the new Pat Turner didn't get within a mile of chocolate, but she pushed aside memories of punishing crash diets and enjoyed. "I wanted to sleep with Gray," she said between bites. In fact, losing her virginity with him had been her main goal during this trip back to Denver, Colorado. "But I didn't think..."
"You'd wind up having a full-tilt affair?" prompted Sunny.
M.J., who looked every bit the news reporter today in khaki pants and a button-down blouse, studiously swirled a spoon around a generous dollop of whipped cream. "Face it, Pat, you were so obsessed with Gray in high school that you were a fool to think you could sleep with him only once."
True, Pat thought glumly. Sex with Gray was addictive.
Pat blew out a whoosh of breath. "I think so. I was so upset that I barely —"
"A proposal isn't something a woman forgets," said Sunny flatly.
"He came over to propose," murmured Pat, "but when he saw the notes for the book I'm writing spread out on the table..." Wincing, her heart still aching, Pat envisioned the scene.
"Every girl at Cagemont wanted Gray," reminded Isabella. "He was definitely a hottie."
"Still is," added Kelly.
"Maybe I shouldn't have let him leave this morning. We were arguing, and..."
Sunny harrumphed. "He's a grown man, Pat. Not to mention one of Denver's movers and shakers. How could you make him stay? Handcuff him?"
"Rope," suggested M.J.
"Too abrasive." Kelly shook her head disdainfully. "I'd hate for Gray to burn that smooth bronzed
skin.""Silk scarves," suggested Sunny, reaching over her tiramisu for a cup of cappuccino. "Isn't that the usual solution?"
"On my last modeling job, they gave me a bunch," offered Isabella. "Raw Chinese silk. I'll be happy to donate. Hog-tying Gray sounds like a worthy cause."
Pat swallowed hard, imagining Gray all trussed up, the corded muscles of his biceps straining as he twisted his wrists in the bonds. "C'mon. This isn't funny. I need advice."
"Now, that's ironic," commented M.J.
Pat squinted. "What?"
"Asking us for help. You're the one with the advice column, Pat. You've patched up more marriages than Band-Aid has kids."
Pat had read every relationship book on the market, everything from romance novels to popular psychology and self-help, if only to survey the competition, but while she'd been writing about relationships, her own love life had suffered. "Maybe I should go talk to Gray."
"After the way he walked out on you this morning?" Sunny looked scandalized. "Don't give an inch, Turner. "If you don't wind up together, you'll be saved the humiliation of asking him to take you back. And, just in case you do make up, you should be viewing this as an all-important moment in the skirmish."
"Skirmish?" echoed Pat.
"Love is war," returned Sunny.
"Truer words were never spoken," agreed Isabella, who was usually less assertive. "In the first weeks of a relationship, you're laying crucial groundwork, setting the rules."
"Never do anything in the first month," added M.J., "that you don't intend to do for the rest of your life."
It wasn't what Pat wanted to hear. She glanced around the festive patio, half hearing the chattering buzz, as she took in the upscale crowd, while thinking of the horrible events of the morning. Gray was right. She'd come back to Denver to seduce him, hoping to put her high-school crush behind her. She'd wanted to impress him with her weight loss, too, not to mention her newfound New York polish, publishing kudos, and college degrees.
Never in a million years had she expected Gray to confess that he'd fallen for the girl she'd been years before. Turning her attention back to her friends, she dropped the bombshell. "Earlier, I think Gray said he wanted to marry me."
Sunny gasped. "As in, you wear a little white dress; he wears a sexy black tux, and everybody sitting here gets fabulous brand-new gowns because we're going to be your bridesmaids?"
"Okay, I'll do it," quipped M.J. "But I want first dibs on the bouquet." M.J. mock-glared around the table. "Be kind, girls. I have fewer prospects than anybody."
"Are you serious, Pat?" said Isabella, ignoring M.J. "He proposed this morning? While you were fighting?"
The book documented Pat's makeover, but Gray felt she was selling herself short by showing how she'd looked. He remembered her as a pleasantly plump, happy-go-lucky teen. Why couldn't he realize things had been different for him when they were kids? He'd been popular, with plenty of money and friends. Why couldn't Gray realize that being constantly mocked about her weight had hurt her? And that telling her life story could help and inspire others? He acted as if the fun, stolen hours they'd spent together comprised all her high school memories!
"That's it," Pat suddenly said, grabbing the small handbag she'd placed next to her plate. All during lunch, she'd been hoping the cell phone inside would ring and that the caller would be Gray. "I'm going over there."
Sunny frowned. "Over where?" she demanded.
"To the Fifty Yard Line."
"His restaurant?" Sunny glanced pointedly around the crowded nearby tables. "Now, that's smart, Turner. During rush hour, you're going to charge into Gray's restaurant to see if you can make him repeat a marriage proposal?"
"Good point." Pat hadn't thought of it quite that way. She replaced her purse on the table. This wasn't the first time she wished she'd grown up with a father. Maybe if there'd been a man around the house, she'd know what to do....
Sunny's eyes met hers. "He left. It's his turn to call."
"He will," assured M.J.
"Especially if he was considering a proposal," put in Kelly. "Sunny's right. Don't back down. Let him come to his senses."
"Make him beg," added Sunny with relish.
"You are getting on that plane to New York tomorrow morning," finished Isabella.
But how could Pat leave Denver without resolving things with Gray? Without him, she'd lost a lifeline. She was adrift, floating to sea.
She took in her girlfriends. Sunny and M.J. were so take-charge. And Kelly was the Rock of Gibraltar. Years ago, when her mother had died, Kelly had given up her scholarship to Yale law, finishing school in Denver instead so she could help her father and younger brothers out. Despite family responsibilities, Kelly had still maintained a demanding career, having recently just taken over her father's law practice. Even Isabella, who'd seemed so shy when they were younger, had come into her own as a top international model. Everyone at the table had more experience with men than Pat....
And once more, despite her job as an advice columnist, Pat was asking for support. Pat loved these women. She trusted their advice about men, too. But what if — just this once — she was right and her girlfriends were wrong? What if she did as they suggested and flew back to New York, leaving it up to Gray to contact her? What if he didn't? Would she lose him?
Every fiber of Pat's being screamed for her to go to the Fifty Yard Line right now. Which should she trust: her friends or her gut?
The engines were humming, baggage handlers were pushing handcarts across the tarmac, flight attendants were shutting overhead compartments, and a piped-in male voice was speaking in somber tones about security precautions. Pat was fighting the urge not to bolt.
Nervously, she dropped the in-flight magazine into the lap of her tan slacks, pocketing her hands in a matching blazer as if that might stop her from grabbing her carry-on and heading for the terminal. Sunny, M. J., Kelly, and Isabella had brought her to the airport, but then they'd had to leave for work, so they couldn't wave her off. Maybe Pat should get off the plane and cab back to her mom's....
They were seconds from takeoff. Could she really leave Denver without confronting Gray? They'd been having an affair for weeks, but since their argument yesterday...
Pat entertained the sudden urge to raid the plane's galley for honey-roasted peanuts or pint-size boxes of animal crackers or maybe one of the ready-made ham or tuna sandwiches the passengers weren't supposed to eat until the plane reached cruising altitude at 30,000 feet. "Anything," she whispered. She hadn't wanted comfort food this badly since she was 15 and saddled with the lifelong curse she'd carried ever since — pining for Gray.
Nervously, she glanced through a window as the engines kicked into high gear. She'd come to Denver determined to lose her virginity, a goal she'd met, but she'd never imagined Gray would confess to having carried a torch for her. At least for the person she'd been as a teen.
The woman she'd become was another matter, of course. He was wrong about her, though! She was successful, yes. But not cold and callous, the way he'd made her out to be. Pat thought back to yesterday, to how he'd arrived at her mother's to find the notes for a book she was writing spread over the table. It wasn't her fault that her publisher wanted a last chapter devoted to a romantic conquest....
Or that the conquest had been Gray.
Or that he'd found out.
Pat's girlfriends told her to forget it. Gray had walked out on her, they reasoned, so it was his turn to call. "What if he doesn't?" she whispered now. Was she really prepared to forget how she'd felt about him all these years? To never see him again?
Swallowing hard, she stared through the window, as if into the past; she could see him, 17 and impossibly handsome, shooting baskets right beneath her bedroom window. Her mother used to say the pounding of the ball on cement felt like water torture. To Pat, the sound had been pure heaven. That was nearly 15 years ago, and the past two weeks had proven she was still in love with him.
"What am I doing sitting here?" she murmured. Hadn't she read her own advice column? A woman should never wait for love. Finding it was her responsibility, right? She had to own her own life. Chase passion with all her heart. Wasn't that what she always preached? Shouldn't she start trusting her own advice — and her heart? Plunging a thumb into the buckle of the seatbelt, she rose, flipped open the overhead compartment and grabbed a carry-on so heavy, she probably should have checked it.
"I'm sorry ma'am," a flight attendant said sternly, "you'll have to return to your seat. We're ready for takeoff.
"I have to go," Pat said simply, feeling half out of her mind as she swung the black bag in front of her and headed for the boarding door. If she had to, she'd punch her way out. This wasn't like her at all. She was hardly the type to create a stir on an airplane. Until now. Damn Gray for making her so crazy! She jogged down the connecting ramp, into the terminal, her eyes peeling for a phone, her mind whirling with ideas about what to say when she found him.
He spoke first. "You're in a hurry, Turner. Going someplace special?"
To find you. She whirled to find him leaning against a ticket taker's podium. As usual, he was turning every female head within staring distance. Tall, lean, tanned, and blond, he was dressed casually in khakis and a polo shirt. "They wouldn't let me come aboard," he explained.
Pat was so stunned to see him that she glanced behind her, pointing her thumb. "On the plane?"
Despite the awkwardness of the moment, a gentle smirk curled the corners of his mouth. Just as quickly, the humor vanished, replaced by something darker — one part anger, another part desire. The latter reminded Pat of the hours they'd spent in bed over the past weeks. He said, "Weren't you even going to say goodbye?"
"Of course I was."
"You were on a plane."
"I got off." That didn't seem to be enough, so she added, "When I last saw you, you were mad...."
"I'm still mad."
"I know. I wanted to see you and talk it out, but if you have to know the truth, Sunny, M.J., Kelly, and Isabella told me to leave. They said that this was part of the skirmish, not the war, and —"
"Let me get this straight," Gray cut in. "You're leaving Denver without saying goodbye because your girlfriends told you to?"
"They said you'd call once I was back in New York."
Gray looked more than averagely exasperated. "How would they know?"
"They're women," Pat returned, a smile lifting her lips. "They've devoted entire lives to the male animal. What he likes. How he thinks."
Gray was trying not to look amused. "Well, I need to know about the female animal."
"The female animal?"
He nodded. "What she likes. How she thinks."
This man definitely knew what she liked, Pat thought, her pulse accelerating. She moved on to question two. "How I think about what?"
"Us."
"I didn't know there was an us."
"There is now."
"Since?"
"Since you got off that plane, and I was standing here."
Her heart hammered as she recalled their fight. "I didn't sell out the old me, Gray."
He raised a staying hand. "I thought about what you said, Pat. And you're right. Deep down, I never really understood how it was for you in those days. I know the Brittanys, Ashley, and Brooke used to tease you. It had to hurt."
Gray's ex-wife, Brittany Anderson, otherwise known as Brittany A., was only one of the cheerleaders who'd given Pat such a hard time in high school. One of their cheers flitted through Pat's mind. Fat Pat, you sure can't miss her, but does she really think Gray Lee's gonna kiss her? A lump lodged in her throat. It sure looked as if Gray was thinking about it. He stepped closer, angled his head down...
And stopped just shy of his lips touching hers.
"You can use the information about our affair in your book," he said. After a second, he added, "as long as whatever you write is tasteful."
Heaven knew some of the things they'd done couldn't go into print. "That's nice of you, Gray."
He shrugged. "No problem. I'm pretty close to perfect."
"And modest."
He sobered. "I know a long-distance relationship is hard," he murmured, lifting a finger and trailing it down her cheek. "But let's try. We've known each other since high school, so this doesn't feel like such a big gamble. Why don't you come back to Denver after your dissertation's accepted? Finish your book here?"
He wanted them to date. Seriously, from the sound of it. During their argument he'd even alluded to the fact that he'd considered proposing. "Denver?"
"For now, you've got to go back to New York."
"I guess I do," she murmured, though the last thing she wanted to do was leave.
"But before you go..."
He leaned a fraction, and she smiled up at him. "Don't tell me," she whispered, his proximity making her dizzy. "You want a kiss goodbye."
"And a promise."
She was breathless. "Anything."
"Boy, you're easy, Turner."
She was smiling when she felt cold metal slip around the fourth finger of her left hand. Her heart skipped a beat, her eyes widened.
A very slow smile curved his lips. "I wish you could see the look on that sexy face of yours right now. It's priceless."
"I feel like I'm standing on the ledge of a skyscraper," she admitted in a stunned whisper.
"Meaning?"
"I'm afraid to look down."
"Don't be." He was biting back a grin. "It meets your requirements in all three categories.
"I didn't know I had requirements or categories," she managed.
"Color, clarity, and carat."
The words brought her back to her senses. Her eyes flitted down, and a second after she saw the white flash of diamond on her hand, she raised the same hand to cover her heart. "I'm dizzy, Gray. I really am."
"Faint," he said. "I'll catch you."
"I wouldn't want to waste another minute of our time by being unconscious," she said, her arms snaking around his waist.
"You'll wear it?" he asked, his voice suddenly rough with love and desire. "Tell me all those guys in Manhattan'll take one look at you, see that on your finger, and know you've made a promise."
"Just until I finish my degree," she managed.
"And then?" His lips feathered over hers, his kiss warming her from the inside out, starting with melting bones and working its way to the surface of her skin.
"And then I'm coming home, Gray," she whispered back. "To Denver." Her throat constricted, feeling raw, since no words had ever felt so right or true. "And to you."
"Maybe we'll get married, huh?"
"Maybe," she agreed with a smile. But it was a fait accompli. Locked in his embrace, she knew she was exactly where she belonged. His ring was on her finger, and the wedding was unfolding in her mind. Pat's mom would design the cake. Her best friends, Sunny, M.J., Kelly, and Isabella, would argue with Pat over colors for their bridesmaids' gowns, stand with Pat at the altar, then fight over the bouquet, since they were all still single....
And then Gray would kiss her with hunger, exactly as he was kissing her now. "One thing's for certain," murmured Gray, leaning away and shouldering her carry-on.
"What?"
"You're missing this particular flight."
Her heart lurched. She could see his bed — the four pillows and the green duvet turned down from silk sheets. "You have other things in mind?"
"Many." Reaching, he twined his fingers through hers, and urged her through the concourse as if he couldn't wait to get to his house or the bed they'd been sharing. "If I'm going to be separated from you between now and our wedding, Pat, I intend to make sure you won't forget me."
He was her one and only. The man she was going to marry. "Forget you, Gray Lee?" she whispered, shaking her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips just as he leaned to reclaim them with his own. "As if I ever could."
He merely smiled back — a smile meant to seal their fate, once and forever.
The End
Sunny raced up the walk to her daughter's preschool as quickly as a woman seven months pregnant could.
Isabella, four months postpartum and carrying her baby boy in a nifty sling, was much quicker, passing Sunny and opening the door for her. "You got a call, too?"
Sunny nodded grimly. "Any idea what happened?"
Isabella shook her head. "Only that there has been some sort of trouble."
They entered the preschool their daughters attended and came face-to-face with Kelly, M.J., and Pat.
Sunny grinned. "Yours, too?"
They all nodded and started to talk at once about the call they'd each received asking them to come to the school immediately.
The preschool director who'd made the call, Mrs. North, came out of her office. "Good, you're all here. If you'd please step into my office?"
Sunny led the way, not entirely surprised to see five little girls, all within nine months in either direction of their fourth birthday, sitting in little chairs along the wall. She looked immediately at the one belonging to her.
While Grace might have inherited her father's glossy black hair and startling blue eyes, the assured tilt of her delicate chin and spark in her gaze came straight from her mother.
Sunny tried to give her a stern look, but a smile snuck through.
Mrs. North closed the door behind the mothers. "Thank you for coming so quickly, ladies. Normally I wouldn't handle things in this manner, but there seems to be a trend evolving with your daughters taking matters into their own hands."
Sunny raised her brows and looked at the women who had been her best friends since high school. "Could it be genetic?"
M.J., her brown eyes twinkling, shook her head. "Environmental."
Pat groaned. "Don't tell me. The Detention Gang, the Next Generation."
Except for the bewildered Mrs. North, they all burst out laughing, starting their beautiful little girls giggling, too.
Sunny sent up a thanks for the blessings she'd received. Not only did she have an incredible husband in Mitchell and a beautiful sprite of a daughter — with possibly another one on the way — she had the most wonderful, dearest friends on earth, courtesy of Cagemont High.
And they all had been blessed in the best way possible — with love.
The End of Best Friends