“What do you think, Annabelle?” Dean cocked his head toward the lakefront. “We’ll go to the Oak Street Beach. I’ll bring a cooler. We can hang out, swim, listen to music. It’ll be fun. You can lower your standards for a couple of hours, can’t you?”

Her life had gotten so weird since she’d met Heath Champion. Chicago’s hottest young jock had just asked her to spend Sunday afternoon lying on the beach with him when, only two days ago, she’d been feeling sorry for herself because she didn’t have any plans for the Fourth of July weekend. “As long as you promise not to ogle younger women while I’m with you.”

“I’d never do that!” he declared, apparently forgetting the brunette Rollerblader.

“Just so we’re clear.”

And he didn’t.

He didn’t talk on his cell, either, or whip out a BlackBerry. It was a hot, cloudless day, and he even provided a beach umbrella to protect her redhead’s skin. They lay on towels listening to music, talking when they felt like it, and gazing out at the water when they didn’t. She wore her two-piece white suit, which was cut high enough at the thigh to make her legs look longer, but not so high that she needed a Brazilian wax. Some of his fans interrupted, but not too many. Still, everyone seemed to want a piece of Dean Robillard. Maybe that was why she sensed an odd sort of loneliness beneath his oversize ego. He dodged questions about his family, and she didn’t press him.

She had four voice mails waiting when she got home, all from Heath, demanding she call him right away. Instead, she took a shower. She was toweling her hair dry when she heard the doorbell ring. She fastened her yellow terry robe at the waist and headed downstairs, running one hand through her mop as she padded to the door.

A tall hunk of a man gazed back at her through the wavy glass. The Python was paying his second house call.

Chapter Eleven

Only two boxes of thin mint cookies this year, girls,” Annabelle said as she pulled the door open. “I’m on a diet.”

Heath pushed past her. “Do you ever check your phone messages?”

She gazed down at her bare feet. “Once again, you’ve caught me looking my best.”

He was in hyper mode, and he barely glanced at her, exactly as it should be. “You look beautiful. So there I am, stuck in a Bible study class in Indianapolis, when I hear the news that my matchmaker is sunning herself on the beach with Dean Robillard.”

“You took a phone call in the middle of Bible study?”

“I was bored.”

“And you were in the class because …? Never mind. Your client wanted you to go.” She shut the door.

“Why the hell did Robillard ask you out?”

“He’s smitten. It happens all the time. Raoul says I can’t help the effect I have on men.”

“Uh-huh. Bodie told me Dean wanted to go to the beach, and he needed a decoy.”