Can't Stand the Heat (10 page)

“Yeah, that sounds like a perfect idea. I'm going to ask her ex-boyfriend if she's a gold digger. I'm sure he'll be totally honest and unbiased. Why didn't I think of that myself?”

“Why not?
You're not even gonna try?” Jamal exclaimed with disbelief. “You mean you're still going to go out with her after everything I told you?”

“Rumors are not facts, Jay. All you have are a bunch of rumors about her. I'm not going to cancel a date over that.” He slapped two crisp twenty-dollar bills on the table. “That should cover our lunch.”

“I'm warning you, man,” Jamal called after him as Cris made his way through the restaurant. “That way lays suffering and pain! Get out while you still can!”

Cris laughed as he continued to slowly shake his head.

“M
mmm,”
Hank said, licking his lips as he slowly let his gaze trail over Stephanie. “You look good enough to eat.”

One of the “Jedi Knights of gold digging” stood in her doorway, giving Hank her best sultry pose, flexing her Jedi skills. For tonight's date, Stephanie had worn a skintight black halter dress with a plunging neckline and an open back. Her long hair was swept up, showing off the diamond and opal pendant necklace and chandelier earrings.

“Why, thank you, Hank.” She patted his shoulder and smiled as she stepped through the door. “If you play your cards right at dinner tonight, maybe you'll get to have me for dessert.”

His eyes widened. She shut her front door behind her, locked it, and walked toward his car, which was parked at the curb, leaving Hank gaping and panting as he watched her.

Forty-five minutes later, they walked arm in arm into one of the best restaurants in the city. It was a supper club nestled on K Street, where Washington, DC's movers and shakers liked to play and talk business. Stephanie was impressed. A place like this usually had a long waiting list. How had Hank managed to get them a table?

I guess he's just got it like that,
Stephanie thought as they strode toward the maître d' desk, excusing themselves through the throng of people who huddled near the door waiting anxiously for a table to come open.

Thank God she had decided to focus on Hank instead of Cris Weaver. Her sisters were still trying desperately to track down the ex-NFL player, just like about half of the other single women in Chesterton. Meanwhile, Stephanie was about to enjoy a five-star meal with the handsome deacon.

“I have a seven o'clock reservation for two,” he said to the blond gentleman who stood at the lacquered desk. “The last name is Montgomery.”

The maître d' glanced at the electronic screen in front of him, scanned a few names, and smiled. “Yes, we have you right here, Mr. Montgomery.” He handed two leather-bound menus to a tall, thin woman who stood beside him.

The hostess tilted her head and grinned. “Please follow me.”

They were escorted across the dining room to one of the booths toward the back.

Not one of the best tables in the house, but far from the worst,
Stephanie thought. They could be stuck near the kitchens.

The din in the restaurant was pretty loud. The conversations, laughter, and clinking of utensils and glasses created a steady wall of sound. Every table was filled with people. Even the bar was crowded.

Hank stepped aside to let Stephanie slide into the semicircular booth first. He climbed in beside her. The woman handed them their menus.

“A waiter will be with you shortly,” she said, before turning around and leaving them alone.

“I'm going to have a hard time focusing on food with you looking as good as you do,” he said, huddling close to Stephanie.

Stephanie removed her linen napkin from her plate and draped it over her lap. “And
I'm
going to have a hard time concentrating with you smelling as good as you do. I love your cologne.”

“Thanks.”

Their waiter arrived soon after, bringing sparkling water and taking their dinner and wine orders. Over their meal, Stephanie learned a little bit more about the deacon. Not only was he a deacon at one of the biggest churches in the county, but he also owned several retail businesses: a few based in Georgia and one he had just started in Virginia. He still owned a residential property in Georgia.

“I left it furnished just in case I decide to rent it out. It'll mean buying all new things for whatever place I decide to buy in Chesterton. Unfortunately, everything I own is still back at the house in Sugarloaf,” he said between bites of his scallops.

“Everything except the dogs,” she corrected, making him frown.

“What dogs?”

She lowered her fork and smiled. “Your two Jack Russell terriers. . . .
remember?
”

“Oh!” He laughed. “Yeah, I took them with me. Those little guys couldn't be left behind.”

Finally, the conversation made it around to Hank's “wish list.”

“So,” he said, pushing his plate aside. He opened his suit jacket and pulled out a folded white sheet of paper from one of his pockets. “I made a list of what I'm looking for . . . like you asked.”

Stephanie finished chewing the last of her snapper and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Hand it over. Let me see.”

He gave an impish smile and handed her the sheet.

She unfolded it and scanned the itemized list.

“Five bedrooms,” she read aloud, “an in-home theater . . . pool . . . four-car garage . . .” She looked up at him and smiled. “All of that's doable as long as you're willing to spend a pretty penny to get it, honey.” She continued reading. “Fireplace . . . spanking me until I come . . .”

Her voice trailed off. She raised her eyebrows, trying her best to mask her shock as she continued to read the rest of Hank's list. Oh, the deacon was one dirty bunny! She had never read a list that included so many four-letter words; mentions of lube, leather, and whips; and references to positions she was sure would require both of them to see a chiropractor afterward.

When she was done, she handed the sheet of paper back to him.

“So do you think you can get me everything I asked for?”

The impish smile hadn't left his face.

Stephanie raised her wineglass to her lips and languidly sipped, to buy herself some time before she answered him.

Frankly, she didn't know if she could be quite kinky enough to fulfill
all
the deacon's fantasies, but she could bluff and act her way through most of it . . . well, maybe half of it. Maybe she'd get lucky and he'd just forget the rest.

“Have you been to the doctor lately, Hank?”

“No. Why?”

“Because you might wanna get a checkup to see that you're healthy. Wouldn't want you to drop dead during the night I'm about to give you.”

He grinned. “Is that so? So my list didn't scare you?” She lowered her glass back to the table and turned toward him, meeting his gaze. “Do I look scared?”

“Some women are a little intimidated by my . . . my tastes. You know?”

“You're the one who should be intimidated. You might not be able to keep up with
me.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, it is.”

She then leaned toward him and kissed him. When she did, he practically leaped at her.

Hank was all tongue and all hands. She had heard of strong kissers, but this man practically sucked the breath out of her! When she felt his hand climb underneath the hem of her dress, she knew she had to put on the brakes . . .
fast!
Kinky deacon was about to get them thrown out of the restaurant.

Stephanie wrenched her mouth away and pushed against his chest.

“I like my men eager, Hank, but save some for later. OK?” she said, breathing hard.

He looked at her hungrily, then slowly nodded.

On that note, Stephanie decided this would be a perfect time for a bathroom break. She would give Hank a chance to simmer in his manly juices. Leaving a man wanting more would only build further anticipation.

“I have to powder my nose, sweetheart. I'll be right back.” She smiled and scooted across the other side of the leather seat and out of the booth.

“I'll be waiting.”

She rose from the table, adjusted the hem of her dress, and made sure to put a little shimmy in her walk as she crossed the restaurant and headed to the ladies' room. Even with how hot under the collar Hank already seemed to be, she wanted to give him a view that would further raise his temperature.

Stephanie used the bathroom and checked her makeup and hair one final time in the mirror before tucking her clutch underneath her arm and walking back into the restaurant. As she neared their table, a familiar baritone voice boomed behind her.

“Stephanie! What a coincidence! What are you doing here in the city?”

You've gotta be kidding me,
she thought with exasperation.

She slowly turned on her heel to find James gazing down at her. This man was starting to become a real pain in the ass! She had run into him more in the past couple weeks than she had in a whole year. If she didn't know any better, she would have sworn that he was running into her on purpose, but even he couldn't be
that
crazy.

“I was just having dinner with some business associates when I saw you.” He strolled toward her and pointed across the room at a table where several men sat. Of course, it was one of the best tables in the house. “Are you enjoying dinner here, too? Got tired of sampling the overpriced fare at your sister's restaurant?”

Stephanie took a slow breath and pasted on a polite smile. “I'm sorry, but I'm busy right now, James. I don't have time for chitchat.”

“Ah.” He laughed and nodded. “I get that response a lot lately from the women in your family. But see, you
are
going to make the time to talk to me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And why is that?” “Because,” he said, leaning toward her. “I hold all the cards, Stephanie.”

She squinted, having absolutely no clue what he was talking about. Why did James insist on talking like a James Bond villain?

“Cards?
What cards?”

“I'm talking about money that you owe me . . . that
all
of you owe me. Your sister didn't tell you about our little conversation?”

Stephanie didn't answer. She was too stunned to respond. He sighed. “I guess not. Well, I explained to her that I haven't forgotten the money that I gave to you, your mother, and your other sisters. And frankly, my goodwill and patience have run out. I want my money back.”

“I didn't know you were keeping receipts all that time, James.”

“I didn't need to.” He tapped his forehead. “The totals are all in here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, why don't you just save the suspense and spit out the total like the cash machine that you are. I'll write you a check, we can both go back to our tables, and you can leave me the hell alone.”

His smile withered.

“Name your price.”

“Fine. Nine thousand dollars.”

She gaped.
“Nine thousand dollars?
Are you joking?” When on earth did she borrow nine thousand dollars from James? Was he counting every time he bought her a drink . . . every time she turned on a light or flushed a toilet in his home?

“That's just crazy! I'm not paying that!”

“Well, that's your prerogative. We could always settle it in a courtroom. If you'd rather pay a lawyer that amount, only to lose in the long run, that's up to you.”

Now he was threatening to sue her?
What the hell?

Nine thousand dollars meant nothing to James. It was the proverbial drop in the bucket compared to how much wealth he had. Hell, he could spend that much in a weekend! But it meant a lot more to her bank account, and he knew it.

Yes, it was petty, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to tangle with him in the courtroom. The judge might not see things her way, especially since James was golf buddies with half of the district and circuit court judges in the county. He was right. If he did go through with his threat to sue her, she'd probably lose. Then she'd be short not only nine thousand dollars but another few thousand in legal fees.

Inwardly, Stephanie fumed, but she wouldn't give James the satisfaction of seeing her go off in public. She wouldn't make a scene, even if she yearned to scream a full-on opera. Instead, she would play it cool and casual.

Stephanie walked toward the restaurant bar and politely tapped the shoulder of one of the men who was sitting hunched on the stools, nursing a Scotch.

“Excuse me, sir. Could I just squeeze in and use a spot on the counter for a second.”

He raised his gaze from his glass. At first the man looked irritated at being disturbed, like he was going to say “no.” But when he turned and saw her standing behind him, he looked up and down and smiled. “Sure, go right ahead.”

Stephanie opened her purse and pulled out her checkbook and a gilded pen. Her stomach turned. Her hand shook as she wrote out the amount. She couldn't see him, but she could almost feel James smiling arrogantly behind her. It took all her willpower not to turn and hurl the checkbook at his fat head.

A few seconds later, Stephanie signed and handed him the check. “I want something from you in writing, a note confirming that all my debts to you are settled.”

“Sure, I can do that . . . as soon as the check clears. This will clear, won't it?” he asked smugly, gazing down at her check. “I don't have to worry about it bouncing?”

That was it. She wasn't going to swallow down her anger anymore.

“Go to hell, James,” she snapped. “And make sure this is the last time you contact me about what I
supposedly
owe you . . . the
last
goddamn time! I don't want to hear from you. I don't want to just happen to run into you again. If you continue to harass me, I'll—”