Can't Stand the Heat

by Shelly Ellis

  Cris finally tore his mouth away from hers. He slowly pushed himself up and rose to his feet. He stretched and turned to her, smiling.

  “Feel like going for a walk?” he asked, holding out his hand to her.

  She wiped her sticky fingers on one of the gingham napkins and nodded. “Sure.” She took his hand.

  Cris dragged her to her feet and she groaned at the slight soreness in her legs from sitting in the same position for so long. They packed what was left of their meal into the picnic basket and held hands again. She let him lead the way as they trudged to another hill, the fall leaves crunching beneath their feet as they went.

  Thanks to Cris and her own courage, so far James had stayed true to his promise to leave her and her family alone. For weeks, she had waited for him to slither his way back into her life like the snake that he was, or to start harassing her mother and her sisters again, but the threat of telling the whole town, his business partners, and the press about what he had done to her seemed to keep him at bay. She knew it wasn’t her threat alone that had done it, though. James was a man who not only wielded power, but respected others who wielded it. He was intimidated enough by Cris now that he didn’t want to spar with him. That was a smart decision on his part. One of the few he had made in the past year.

  Lauren’s family was still as crazy as ever. Her industrious mother had landed a date with the rich widower two towns over. Yolanda was sure she could persuade him to marry her within the next six months and all her money troubles would be solved. Lauren wasn’t as convinced, but she didn’t tell her mother that.

  Cynthia, Dawn, and Stephanie were still in hot pursuit of new sugar daddies. All of them had asked if maybe Cris had some NFL friends that Lauren could introduce them to. She had to disappoint them by telling them no.

  “I’m sorry. But I wouldn’t subject my worst enemy to your sisters, Lauren,” Cris had said with a lofty roll of his eyes when she told him about her sisters’ inquiries. “And I damn sure wouldn’t introduce them to any of my friends!”

  Though Cynthia still was a gold digger through and through, mercifully she had kept her promise to suspend Clarissa’s gold-digging “training” for a while. So Lauren’s niece had managed to start her freshmen year at Temple University without the added pressure of having to move to campus, find all her classes, and cram for her exams while learning the many ways to ensnare a man. Lauren hoped Clarissa was enjoying her freedom . . . for however long it lasted.

  Phillip was also out of the hospital and done with his recovery. He had been taking it easy for weeks, delegating most of the responsibility for the restaurant’s kitchen to Lauren in his absence. He had broken the news to her a few days ago that he would stay on as owner of Le Bayou Bleu, but he would no longer be the head chef of the restaurant.

  “The doc said I gotta take it easy, chérie,” he had grumbled. “He said if I don’t want my ticker to wear out on me again, I’m gonna have to put up my knives and spatula. Get off my feet.”

  Lauren had been sad to hear that she would no longer be elbow to elbow with her dear friend and mentor in the kitchen again. Knowing the restaurant’s reputation, Phillip would probably be replaced with some snooty chef from a five-star restaurant in New York City, someone who would never get their hands dirty working the line or lower himself by having drinks with the dishwashers and busboys.

  “I hope whoever takes over can fill your shoes, Phillip,” she had mumbled, teary-eyed. “There’s no chef who could come close to you.”

  “Humph, and don’t I know it! Phillip Rochon is one of a kind, chérie, but . . .” He had smiled. “I guess you’ll have to do. I certainly taught you enough. You can handle it.”

  Lauren had blinked in surprise. “What?”

  “I want you to take over as head chef of my restaurant. I told you. I don’t trust my baby to anyone! If I leave her to you, I leave it in good hands.”

  Lauren had been so taken aback by his words, she had gazed at him dumbfounded for several seconds. Finally, she had broken out of her stupor long enough to leap up and give him a bear hug.

  “Watch out now! You’re gonna kill me before I have a chance to sign the damn paperwork!”

  Lauren and Cris continued to climb the next hill with him lugging the picnic basket. Her tennis shoes sank into the damp grass and the hem of her jeans was soaking wet. Perspiration was on her brow. Her breathing became labored. He was really making her work for this view!

  She was only seconds away from telling him that she couldn’t walk any farther before Cris set down the basket and turned to her.

  “Now look at that,” he said, pointing off into the distance.

  She followed his finger and smiled.

  She could see Chesterton more easily from here. She gazed at the cars slowly driving along Main Street, the various steeples of United Methodist, St. Ignatius, and the Baptist church at the end of Broadleaf, and the savings and loan’s clock tower. From here, the town was beautiful, even if she knew up close it could be very different sometimes. But for better or for worse, it was her home.

  “I want to give you something.” Cris suddenly reached into his jacket.

  Lauren was staring off into the distance, distracted by the tranquil view, smiling to herself. When she turned and saw Cris tugging a folded white envelope from his jacket’s inner pocket, she frowned.

  “I want you to take this.” He handed it to her. “No arguments. In fact, don’t say anything. Just accept it.”

  “Cris, what is this?”

  But even before he answered and tried to press the envelope into the palm of her hand, she knew what it was.

  “It’s a check. About ninety-five thousand or so. I put a little extra in to cover any fees or penalties you might have to pay. But that should cover all your outstanding bills, I think.”

  Lauren gazed down at the envelope, feeling her stomach clench into knots. It had been such a nice moment. Now she was being brought back to reality. “Cris, I can’t ta—”

  “Yes, you can. After all we’ve been through, yes, you can. I need you to trust me and let me help you.”

  But he had already come to her rescue. He had already helped her—in more ways than one. She didn’t want his money, too.

  “You’ll pay me back. I know you will.”

  She tiredly closed her eyes. “Cris, baby, you and I both know damn well I won’t be able to pay back this money. It’s too much! That’s more than I make in a—”

  “There’s more than one way to pay someone back, Lauren. You just have to hear all the terms.”

  She suddenly opened her eyes, taken aback. “What . . . what terms?”

  Cris gave a knowing smile and wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her toward him.

  Lauren eyed him uneasily. “What terms, Cris?”

  “First, I want you to take the money to pay off your debts,” he said, leaning down, teasing her lips. “Then I want you to move out of your apartment. Next, I want you to move in with me. I want you to stay with me. I want you to be mine, Lauren.”

  If any other woman had heard those words, she’d be ecstatic, but instantly Lauren’s heart sank. So those were his terms? To get the money, she would have to move in with him, she would have to be his? This arrangement sounded very familiar. In fact, she remembered having a similar agreement with James more than two years ago.

  “So you escaped one sugar daddy only to run into the arms of another,” a voice in her head mocked.

  Why did she keep coming back to this? What was it about her that made men think they had to take care of her?

  Why keep fighting it, she thought sadly, silently accepting her fate. She wanted to be with Cris. She loved him and needed him, but not in the way he thought. Her mother had been right at least about one thing: Loving Cris this strongly gave him the ultimate power over her. He wielded so much power, in fact, that now she was willing to give up a goal that she had focused on for almost a year: obtaining her independence and self-resolve. It h
urt that being with him meant she would have to go back to her old ways, but . . .

  So be it. She was a Gibbons girl, after all. She had denied it for quite a while, but being a kept woman who pleased her man was practically in her DNA.

  Lauren stiffly nodded. “Fine, Cris. If those are your terms, I accept them. I’ll . . . I’ll be yours.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. Now he was the one frowning. “Well, don’t sound so excited.”

  “I’m sorry!” She shoved back from him. “But I’m not going to pretend everything’s gravy about this! I understand how this goes. Believe me. I’ve been through this before. Whatever you want, I’ll do it!” She suddenly glared up at him, tears welling in her eyes. “But I’m not doing it for the money! OK? I said it and I meant it: I don’t want your goddamned money! I’m doing it because I want to be with you. I’ll be yours if that’s what you want.”

  “No, you don’t understand, Lauren. You’re talking about this like I’m making a damn business proposition, like I’m trying to buy you! I don’t want you to just be mine! Hell, I want to be yours, too!”

  She gazed up at him, confused.

  “I’m asking you to marry me, baby.” He reached into another jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He then pulled back the lid.

  Lauren blinked in surprise, gazing at the solitary diamond ring he held in front of her.

  “You’re . . . you’re asking me to marry you?”

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  This time when she blinked back tears, it wasn’t out of anger. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Cris.” She wiped at her tear-stained cheeks. “I just thought—”

  “Yeah . . .” He removed the ring from the box. “I know what you thought. But that wasn’t what I was offering. I’ll try not to be insulted.”

  He placed the ring on her finger and she gazed down at it. She slowly shook her head in amazement. Suddenly, her happy tears morphed into laughter.

  Cris gazed at her in bemusement. “OK, this was not the reaction I expected. Why are you laughing?”

  Lauren held her stomach as she laughed even harder. “Oh, Cynthia is definitely going to lose her shit over this one! She swore this was my goal all along . . . to try to snag you before any of them could. She’s going to be so pissed!”

  Cris smiled before tugging her back toward him. He then wrapped his arms around her again. He locked his hands around her waist so she couldn’t get away from him even if she’d tried.

  “Well, I’m less concerned with what Cynthia has to say about this than what you have to say. I just asked you to marry me and I haven’t heard you say ‘yes.’ ”

  Lauren grinned as she stood on the tips of her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes. Yes!”

  They kissed and Lauren was suddenly taken back to the first moment they’d touched lips. She had been so nervous back then, trying so hard to keep from falling for him.

  A lot of good that did me.

  Lauren pulled back her head and gave a wry grin. “I hope you realize what you’re getting into. When you marry a Gibbons girl, you get a lot of baggage and a lot of drama.” Her expression suddenly became somber. “I won’t let my family come between us, Cris, but I won’t let them go, either. They’re all crazy. They drive me crazy! But I love my mother. I love my sisters and I won’t—”

  “Lauren, I’m not asking you to give up your family. I know you love them. I just want to make sure that ‘this’ ”—he pointed to himself and then to her—“always comes first.”

  She nodded emphatically. “Always, Cris.” And she meant it.

  “So . . . how much drama are we talking about exactly?”

  At that, Lauren laughed. She laughed so hard her stomach hurt.

  A READING GROUP GUIDE

  CAN’T STAND THE HEAT

  Shelly Ellis

  ABOUT THIS GUIDE

  The questions that follow are included to enhance your group’s reading of this book.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. What do you think was the real reason Lauren finally left her boyfriend, James? Was it his verbal abusiveness, the empowerment she found in cooking, or both?

  2. Should Lauren take responsibility for her past actions and her gold digging ways, or is she merely a victim of her upbringing?

  3. Is the idea of having a Gibbons family rulebook for gold digging absurd, or does having rules to abide by make sense?

  4. Why is Lauren torn about pursuing the ex-football player and millionaire, Crisanto Weaver? What is her real fear?

  5. Stephanie Gibbons is the opposite of her sister Lauren: she’s unapologetic about gold digging and isn’t meek around James or any man, for that matter. Does she serve as a better model of female empowerment than her sister?

  6. Is Cris right in questioning Lauren and challenging her honesty, or is he being hypocritical?

  7. Is Cynthia’s reasoning for wanting to show her daughter, Clarissa, how to become a gold digger a bad thing, or is Cynthia justified because she believes it’s in her daughter’s best interest?

  8. Cris chooses to confront James in a public place, embarrassing his friend Jamal. Was Cris wrong for what he did?

  9. Lauren gets into a fight at the dress store because of the affair Stephanie had with Deacon Montgomery. Lauren said she’s tired of defending her family, but Stephanie says it’s their duty as sisters. Which one is right? Should Lauren always have her sisters’ back if they’ve had hers in the past?

  10. When Lauren finally reunites with Cris, she accepts that she may have to give up her independence and go back to being a “kept woman.” After going through all those trials and tribulations, would you make a similar concession for true love?

  Don’t miss the next book in Gibbons Gold Digger series,

  The Player & the Game

  On sale in September 2013 wherever books are sold

  Chapter 1

  (Unwritten) Rule No. 3 of the Gibbons Family Handbook:

  Never give a man your heart—and definitely never give him your money.

  Busy, busy, busy, Stephanie Gibbons thought as she hurried toward her silver BMW that was parallel parked in the reserved space near her office. Her stilettos clicked on the sidewalk as she walked. Her short, pleated skirt swayed around her hips and supple brown legs with each stride.

  She shouldn’t have gone to the nail salon before lunch, but her French manicure had been badly in need of a touch-up. Unfortunately, that slight detour had thrown off the entire day’s schedule and now she was running ten minutes late for the open house.

  The spring day was unseasonably warm, but it was tempered by a light breeze that blew steadily, making the newly grown leaves flutter on the numerous maples lining Main Street in downtown Chesterton, her hometown. The breeze now lifted Stephanie’s hair from her shoulders and raised even higher her already dangerously short skirt.

  She adjusted the Realtor name tag near her suit jacket lapel, casually ran her fingers through her long tresses, and reached into her purse. She pulled out her cell phone and quickly dialed her assistant’s number. Thankfully, the young woman picked up on the second ring.

  “Carrie, honey, I’m running late . . . Yes, I know . . . Are you already at the open house?” Stephanie asked distractedly as she dug for her keys in her purse’s depths. “Are any buyers there yet? . . . OK, OK, don’t freak out. . . . Yes, just take over for now. Put out a plate of cookies and set the music on low. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes . . . I know. . . . I have every confidence in you. See you soon.”

  She hung up.

  With car keys finally retrieved, Stephanie pressed the remote button to open her car doors. The car beeped. The headlights flashed. She jogged to the driver’s-side door and opened it. As she started to climb inside the vehicle, she had the distinct feeling of being watched.

  Stephanie paused to look up, only to find a man standing twenty feet away from her. He casually leaned against the brick front of one of the many shops on Main Street. He was part
ially hidden by the shadows of an overhead awning.

  He looked like one of many jobless men you would find wandering the streets midday, hanging out in front of stores because they had little else to do and nowhere else to go. Except this bored vagrant was a lot more attractive than the ones she was used to seeing. He also was distinct from the other vagrants in town because she had seen him several times today and earlier this week.

  Stephanie had spotted him when she walked into the nail salon and again as she left, absently waving her nails as they dried. He had been sitting in the driver’s seat of a tired-looking Ford Explorer in the lot across the street from the salon. Though he hadn’t said anything to her or even looked up at her as she walked back to her car, she had the feeling he had been waiting for her.

  She had seen him also on Wednesday, strolling along the sidewalk while she had been on her date with her new boyfriend, Isaac. The man had walked past the restaurant’s storefront window where she and Isaac had been sitting and enjoying their candlelit dinner. When Stephanie looked up from her menu and glanced out the window, her eyes locked with the stroller’s. The mystery man abruptly broke their mutual gaze and kept walking. He disappeared at the end of the block.

  The mystery man had a face that was hard to forget—sensual, hooded dark eyes, a full mouth, and a rock hard chin. He stood at about six feet with a muscular build. Today, he was wearing a plain white T-shirt and wrinkled jeans. Though his short hair was neatly trimmed, he had thick beard stubble on his chin and dark-skinned cheeks.

  “Are you following me?” Stephanie called to him, her open house now forgotten.

  He blinked in surprise. “What?” He pointed at his chest. “You mean me?”