Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(54)

She still needed to tell him Edward was with her, but even though he was less inclined to snarl these days, she wasn’t anxious to break the news. She stalled for a few seconds by dividing her ponytail in half and pulling it tight in the rubber band.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I had to bring Edward with me today.”

A wariness came over his expression. “I don’t see him.”

She tilted her head toward the playground. “He’s hiding. He’s afraid of you.”

“I haven’t done anything to him.”

That was so patently untrue that she didn’t bother contradicting him.

He glared at her. “I told you not to bring him here.”

“It’s Saturday, and there’s noplace else for him to go.”

“I thought Kristy was keeping him on Saturday.”

“Out of the goodness of her heart, but I’m not imposing on her again. Besides, she’ll be moving into her condo soon, and she has things to do.”

He glanced toward the playground, but Edward remained hidden. Gabe’s antagonism toward her son hurt. Couldn’t he see how special Edward was? How could any intelligent person meet Edward and not fall in love with him?

“Fine,” he snapped. “Just keep your eye on him so he doesn’t get into anything.”

“This is a drive-in, Gabe, not a china shop. There isn’t much he can break.”

Instead of replying, he headed for the back of the pickup where he grabbed a wooden spool of cable and stalked away.

His attitude toward Edward felt like a betrayal. If he cared about her, he should care about her son, too. If he—

She caught herself just in time. She was thinking about Gabe as if they had some future instead of remembering that her relationship with him had only two facets: he was her boss and he was her sex toy. That was all.





I’m a fox.

I’m a fox.

I’m a fox.

Kristy pressed the palm of her hand to her chest, which was barely covered by a scoopy little ice-blue tank top tucked into a pair of white jeans so tight they would have showed her panty line if she weren’t wearing something called a thong that didn’t leave a panty line, but did give her a wedgie.

As she settled behind the neatly arranged desk in her office, her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her throat, but she couldn’t feel it beneath her palm because her breasts were in the way, monumental breasts pushed up to centerfold proportions by the Wonderbra that the saleslady at the boutique in Asheville told her she absolutely had to buy, along with several dozen other essentials that had eaten up a chunk of the savings she’d set aside to furnish the bedroom in her new condo.

She’d been building up her nerve for two weeks, ever since the night she’d told Rachel about her feelings for Ethan. In four days, she’d be moving into her condo. It was a time for new beginnings.


The breeze from the open window lifted a lock of her dark, baby-fine hair. It was cut short now and feathered. That’s what the hairdresser had said: We’re feathering—feathering in a simple, yet important, sort of way.

Now her simple, yet important, hair tickled her cheeks and brushed the nape of her neck. A few feathers flew over her eyebrows and into her eyes. Feathers flicked the sparkly one-karat cubic zirconia studs in her earlobes. Feathers, feathers, feathers, until she felt like a canary. It was so untidy.

When she’d walked into the cottage after her makeover yesterday and seen Rachel’s jaw drop in amazement, she’d burst into tears.

Rachel, however, had burst out in delighted laughter. “Kristy, you look like a really stylish tramp! And I mean that in the very best way.”

Rachel had hugged her and fussed over her and ordered her to lay out all her purchases: the clothes and underwear, the expensive new makeup, and the trillion-dollar-an-ounce exquisitely sultry perfume that had made Edward wrinkle his nose and tell Kristy she smelled like a mag’zine.

After admiring all Kristy’s new purchases, Rachel had told her she was beautiful, then glared at her in that intimidating way she had. “You’re doing this for yourself, aren’t you, Kristy? You’re doing it because you want to, not just because you’re trying to catch the attention of that worthless Ethan Bonner.”

“I’m doing this for myself,” Kristy had repeated, even though both of them knew it was a lie. If she had her way, she’d have her plain old long hair back, her plain old clothes, her plain old face scrubbed clean of everything but a little lipstick. If she were doing it for herself, she’d be invisible again, because she liked invisible. She craved invisible. She was born to be invisible.

But invisible wouldn’t catch the attention of the dreamboat preacher.

Her blood froze as she heard his confident step in the hallway. The church office was closed on Mondays, so there was a lot of work they had to catch up on today. Dear God, please let him be overcome with lust quickly because I don’t know if I can carry this off for very long.

“Morning.” He breezed into the office. “Bring me the report from the mission committee, will you, so I can look it over? And let’s see if we can get the July calendar finalized.” He sailed past her desk and into his office without a glance.

Good old invisible Kristy Brown.

She snatched up her purse, pulled out the tiny flagon of perfume, and spritzed ten dollars’ worth into her cleavage. She did a quick check of her appearance in the mirror of her new compact: light foundation, delicately arched eyebrows, thick, smoky-brown lashes, pale blush, and a crimson hooker’s mouth.