Playing the Player

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Playing the Player Page 7

by Lea Santos


  “Sure. No problem.”

  Gracie tilted her head toward the noisy crowd of reporters, and her voice took on a protective, almost fierce quality. “Not that I’m embarrassed of Ms. Right, but she’s too personal to me for this fucking circus.”

  Circus? Confusion crowded Madeira’s mind. None of this added up. Gracie had caused the so-called circus, so…? “Of course. We can make arrangements later.”

  Obediently, they followed along, but Gracie’s steps slowed even more than the limp dictated. Madeira adjusted her own gait to match Gracie’s, wondering how bad the injury had been to leave her with a limp after all these months. She found herself wondering a lot of things about Gracie, like why she seemed so distracted, her eyes scanning the hallway like a woman on her way to the electric chair searching for one last out. Just as Madeira had opened her mouth to ask, Gracie barreled into her like a defensive lineman, and Madeira stumbled to the side, catching herself on a door that swung open beneath her weight. She tripped into a small bathroom, almost ending up sprawled on the shiny black, white, and red tile floor.

  Catching her balance on the edge of the gleaming white sink, she spun, just in time to watch Gracie deadbolt the door and sag against it with a sigh. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it worked.” She crossed herself.

  Hard as Madeira tried, she couldn’t keep the frown off her face or the wariness from her voice. “What the hell was that for?”

  “I’m so sorry.” Gracie shoved off the door and moved toward her, palms raised in the universal dealing-with-an-unstable-person position. “I didn’t know how else to do it. I found the bathroom earlier and figured it would be our only chance to…oh, God, it’s such a long, absurd story. Look, I—I had to get you alone.”

  “Alone,” Madeira repeated, more to get it straight in her own mind than to confirm it with Gracie. All of a sudden, she wondered if Grace Obregon meant to put the moves on her right up against the red-painted wall. The notion, though unexpected, held a hell of a lot of raw appeal. Before Madeira had a chance to become really enamored of the fantasy, however, Gracie dashed it.

  “I have to…explain things, before we go through with this fiasco in front of God and everybody.”

  Huh? First a circus and now a fiasco? One would think Gracie would display a little more enthusiasm for the show of her own making. On the contrary, her eyes seemed troubled, and the strain showed in the tightness of her jaw.

  A quick furrowing of fingers through her hair bought Madeira time as she grappled to regain control of this situation. Now seemed like the perfect moment for some charm and levity. Things had suddenly grown serious, and that scared the hell out of her. Madeira had never been adept at handling life’s more serious moments, not like her big sister was. “Oh, you want to talk. I see.” Madeira flashed her most effective flirtatious grin. “For a minute, I thought you were going to, you know, attack me.”

  Gracie laughed softly, and the look in her eyes as she shook her head could only be described as a disconcerting combination of pity and patronization.

  Not at all what Madeira had expected.

  “Why does that not surprise me?” Gracie asked in a wry tone.

  Gracie barely gave Madeira a moment to be confused and offended before she moved closer and grabbed Madeira’s wrists. “Anyway, enough about that. We don’t have much time before Harold notices we’re gone and comes after us.”

  Off-kilter, Madeira took a small step backwards, easing out of Gracie’s grasp. Jesus, she was never this out of control around a woman. “I’m all ears.”

  Gracie’s mouth opened, but then her bravado seemed to crack. Madeira caught a beguiling glimpse of Gracie’s pink tongue as it darted out to moisten her full lips. How odd that the same woman who could steamroll her into a room couldn’t quite spit out what she wanted to say…

  Madeira raised her brows. “Gracie? I’m listening.”

  Still struggling for words, she tugged the brief hem of her sweater down like a prim librarian whose virtue had been called into question. Madeira almost smiled, but Gracie’s sweater-tugging drew her gaze first to the round, lush promise of her breasts, then to a bright yellow tattoo peeking out of her neckline. Madeira sobered as an arrow of lust shot straight to her center. A tattoo? Hot…but totally unexpected.

  Madeira blinked, identifying the design as a yellow caution sign emblazoned with two words. Easy Vixen?

  Hijole. Madeira’s mouth went dry in direct contradiction to other parts of her body, and at the same time, a memory tickled at the back of her mind. What was it Gracie had said about a tattoo on the day of the accident? She couldn’t quite remember, but there had been something about a tattoo.

  “I…I…I—”

  Madeira shoved the elusive memory to the back of her mind, vowing to contemplate it later. None of this made sense. Here stood a chick who wanted to rope Madeira into commitment, yet she sported a tattoo that said Easy Vixen. Madeira needed to wrap her brain around what that meant. Grace Obregon shook her confidence for reasons she couldn’t quite grasp. A strong need to push her—or scare her—away seized her. “Just say it, Gracie. I don’t bite.” Madeira leered. “Without an invitation, that is.”

  Instead of backing Gracie up with the words like Madeira had hoped, the wolfish comment seemed to embolden her.

  Gracie straightened her shoulders, leveled Madeira with an unimpressed stare, cleared her throat, and ignored the innuendo completely. “First, I want you to know that I’m so incredibly grateful for all you did for me that day on the highway. And for Ms. Right.” Grace implored Madeira with those intoxicating brandy eyes. “Really, I don’t even think I can adequately repay you. Please know that.”

  “Mira, you don’t need to repay me. I wish I could have done more. After I heard you’d…died, well, no way could I have gotten rid of your bear.” Too close to the surface, Madeira. Too intimate. “But, really, anyone would have kept her.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. But, anyway…” Grace faltered, and her gaze slanted downward.

  Uh-oh. The hedging raised Madeira’s hackles. Jesus, did Gracie intend to proposition her for a relationship right there in the john, away from the cameras’ invasive eyes? Madeira cocked her head, studying Gracie through narrowed eyes. “I’m not sure why you had to get me alone for this.”

  Gracie cringed and shook her hands. “Hang on for a second. I’m not quite done, I just…don’t know how to say it. God, this is humiliating.”

  A surge of compassion washed over Madeira’s bravado like a rogue wave. “Tell me. It’s okay.”

  Gracie took a deep breath, apparently to fuel the stream of babble that burst forth next. “The thing is, Madeira, I owe you an apology. Well, my stupid sister is the one who actually owes you…ugh—” She rolled her eyes, then met Madeira’s gaze boldly. “Listen, what I’m trying to gut out is this: my sincere gratitude aside, this whole Samaritan Soul Mate thing is a big…fucking…mistake. Or a lie, actually.”

  “Ah…okay.” An unfamiliar twist of anticipation and dread stretched through Madeira. “Which means what, exactly?”

  Gracie sucked in another breath, held it, and answered on the exhale. “It means I don’t…Jesus, I don’t want you”—she cringed again—“or whatever you’d call it. No offense. And despite what you must think after reading those awful, trumped-up articles, no offense to Harold, either. But, holy hell, you’re not anywhere close to being my soul mate, Madeira, and I’m so sorry, but I’m not actually…seeking you.”

  The straightforwardness of the admission zapped Madeira like a 220-volt surge. So, there it was. Not a proposition after all, but a pretty epic brush-off. Thank God, right?

  Right?

  Madeira waited for the flow of relief, but to her amusement and annoyance, felt a little sting of hurt pride instead. Still, her shoulders released a bit of their pent-up tension. She raised one eyebrow. “Well, that works out perfectly, because I’m not actually looking to be sought.”

  “Good. That’s what I figur
ed. Then everything’s—”

  “Forgive me for asking.” Madeira held up one hand to stop her. “If this is how you feel, what’s with the media coverage?”

  Gracie jammed her arms crossed and scowled. “That’s where the stupid sister issue enters the picture. My annoying little sis, Lola, set the whole thing up.”

  Madeira gaped. “I don’t understand. Why?”

  Gracie blushed almost crimson, and something warned Madeira not to call attention to it. “Because she’s…Lola. Hard to explain. She stood in line twice in heaven when they were handing out the romance genes, I guess. Plus, she thought I was”—Gracie swallowed, and forced the rest out through clenched teeth—“lovesick, or some crap like that. For you. It’s lame and so breathtakingly inappropriate and over-the-top—I get it—but she was trying to cheer me up.”

  Madeira bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. This was getting weirder by the moment, and watching Gracie squirm was kind of fun. “Whatever gave her the idea you were lovesick…or some crap like that?”

  Gracie worried her bottom lip between her teeth, clearly oblivious to the sexiness of the motion. “Do you really have to know?”

  “Don’t I have a right?”

  Gracie conceded the point with a sigh. “I guess I mumbled some things about you during my morphine high after the crash that she took to mean…I was interested.” Gracie’s arms wrapped tightly around her middle. “In you. I mean, I was whacked the fuck out on narcotics. I don’t even remember. But she catalogued it all in her twisted little mind, and when the anniversary of the crash rolled around, she came up with this bright scheme to get us together. She called the paper pretending to be me and fed them the bogus story.” Gracie’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”

  Okay, Madeira understood the Lola part. But that wasn’t what had her intrigued at the moment. She cocked one eyebrow. “So, what exactly did you say about me that led her to believe you were interested?”

  Groaning, Gracie flicked a hand as though none of it mattered, but Madeira was gratified to see her chest redden. “You would key in on that part. It was just the ramblings of a drugged woman. I didn’t even know you. It’s irrelevant.”

  Madeira grinned. “To you, maybe. I’m kinda curious.”

  “Madeira,” Gracie said, by way of friendly warning. “This isn’t about stroking your ego.”

  “Ouch.” Madeira held up her palms to show she’d back off. For now.

  “I just wanted you to understand, before we talked to the reporters, that I’m not…” Gracie licked her lips and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Listen, you get the point. I don’t know why I’m dragging this out. I am indebted to you for what you’ve done for me, but as for the rest of it, I’m just not in the market for another woman like you.”

  Another? “Woman like me?” A geyser of amusement bubbled inside Madeira, prompting a huge, ridiculous smile. She wondered if Gracie knew how serious she looked as she unflinchingly slashed Madeira down to size.

  Dismay drained her complexion of color as Gracie seemed to become aware of her words. She clapped a hand over her mouth, then slowly dragged it off. “Holy—I didn’t phrase that very well. I didn’t mean to insult you or imply that you aren’t…” She swallowed, rolling her hand as she swept a gaze up and down Madeira’s body.

  “Every woman’s fantasy?” Cocky, but Madeira figured she deserved to shoot one barb after all she’d taken. Hell, her ego had just been destroyed by the hottest woman she’d seen in years. Madeira couldn’t help but bait her.

  It didn’t work.

  Gracie rolled her eyes playfully, but emitted the kind of scoff a seasoned player hated to hear from a beautiful woman. “And here I thought I might’ve hurt your feelings. Geez. I should’ve figured you wouldn’t have the kind of bloated self-image that could be shaken by a little rejection.” She sniffed. “Still, I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”

  “I’m only teasing, Gracie.” A laugh started deep in Madeira’s belly as she focused on that word—rejection. To think she’d been afraid Gracie wanted to trap her. On the contrary, Gracie seemed completely immune to Madeira’s usual charms. Almost repelled by them. Too perfect. Gracie was no more attracted to Madeira than Madeira was to the idea of settling down.

  She tried, again, to bask in the sense of relief that should’ve flooded her, but talons of disappointment gouged her instead. She continued to chuckle, but the laughter sounded phony in her own head. Gracie, thank God, didn’t seem to notice.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. I’m—” Hell, Gracie had spilled her guts. Madeira might as well return the favor and be completely honest. Then again…nah. “Frankly, I’m relieved.”

  “You are?” Gracie’s expression looked hopeful, but just a tiny bit of hurt crinkled around the edges like the black soot around a burned love letter.

  Madeira could relate. Still, she nodded. “I just didn’t expect you to feel this way. You caught me by surprise.” She shrugged, feeling sheepish. “If anything, I thought you might, you know, proposition me on the evening news and make me look like a jerk when I said no to renting the proverbial U-Haul.”

  Bright color stained Gracie’s cheeks. “Yeah? Well, trust me. I’d no more proposition you or any woman than I’d voluntarily re-break my leg.”

  Madeira’s abs contracted with the punch of that statement. “A traditional woman, no? Your perfect woman has to get down on bended knee, I guess?”

  “Uh, not even close. I don’t have a ‘perfect woman.’ I just want a woman who wants me, and only me. That’s all. I won’t settle for less than I deserve ever again, and I don’t share.” Gracie shrugged. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask.” A stunned expression transformed her face, then she huffed and stared up at the ceiling. “Jesus, why am I telling her all this? She couldn’t care less.” Gracie groaned with self-derision.

  Madeira blinked and crossed her arms over her chest, reveling in the new and uncomfortable feeling of being the dumpee instead of the dumper. Well, sort of. She couldn’t be dumped by someone who’d never had her. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  Madeira’s gaze narrowed. “Did you ever think of looking me up?”

  Gracie bit the corner of her lip and focused on the toe of her boot. “No. I mean, yes, I did. I tried to find out who you were several months ago, but not for reasons of…” She twirled her hand. “I wanted to say thanks, not throw myself at you.”

  Unable to stop herself, Madeira chuckled again. After a moment, Gracie grudgingly laughed, too, and Madeira pulled her into what was intended to be a friendly, understanding hug. Instead, a curious proprietary feeling overtook her. She had to focus hard to keep from smoothing her palms down the curve of Gracie’s back and molding their bodies together in a manner that would only spell CLAIM.

  “This is such a mess.” Gracie muttered against Madeira’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you got dragged into it. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

  Madeira held Gracie away out of physical necessity, hoping the distance would simultaneously stall her raging sexual attraction and jump-start her brain. “Aw, look. It’s not so bad. As long as we know where we stand, who cares what anyone else thinks?” Her palms slipped away from Gracie’s shoulders, still tingling from the warm, womanly feel of her.

  The absence of touch was palpable.

  Madeira wanted to hold her again.

  “Are you forgetting we still have to go out there and face those reporters? They seem to care what their readers think about the whole situation. How are we going to survive that?”

  How, indeed? Madeira rubbed the back of her hand against her jawline, thinking. A ridiculous thought materialized. “You probably won’t like this idea.”

  “Try me.”

  Madeira studied Gracie’s face a moment, trying to anticipate her reaction. “Let’s give them the interview of their dreams, the happily ever after they’re salivating for. Once the
y have a fairy-tale ending for the readers, my guess is they’ll drop it.”

  Grace’s brows arched, and her expression said she found the idea intriguing. Thank goodness. “You mean, deceive them? Make them think we’re…you know?” A lovely blush rose to her cheeks.

  A breeze of excitement blew through Madeira. She liked the idea better the more she thought about it, but tried for a neutral expression. This was one charade she’d enjoy acting out. “Why not? It’s what they want to hear.”

  Gracie crossed her arms, suddenly skeptical. “Hang on. This isn’t just some ploy to get me in the sack, right? Because, trust me, it won’t work.”

  “No. It isn’t.” Madeira didn’t want to think about Gracie that way at the moment. It made her blood rush south. “I promise.”

  Gracie seemed to gauge Madeira for an ulterior motive, but eventually, she flipped her palms. “If you’re up for it, I am. Since we both understand and agree how completely unsuited for each other we are.”

  Madeira didn’t necessarily share Gracie’s opinion on the matter, but she nodded once before lowering her tone to a purr. “Absolutely. Anyone can see we’re incompatible.”

  “Okay, then. This might even be fun.” A winsome smile touched Gracie’s lips. “I’ve always wanted to be an actress, though my abuela claims I can’t lie to save my life.”

  Madeira nodded. “You’ll do fine. And I’m a natural actor.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” Gracie smirked. “Tools of the trade, huh?”

  “Something like that.” Madeira smiled. “Let’s go.”

  “Hang on. Let me just…check my hair.”

  “Ah, mujeres,” Madeira said, with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Oh, shut your hole,” Gracie said with a wry smile. “I guarantee you check your hair twice as often as I check mine.” Grace stepped around Madeira and faced the mirror. A mask of dismay slipped into place. “Lord.” With a groan, she bent, flipping her hair over and snaking her slim fingers into it. She shook it almost angrily. “I can’t be photographed looking this way. I look like a hooker.”

 

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