Page 32 of The Proximity Factor

Lanie came to my side. “Well done,” she whispered. “But don’t relax just yet. She’s just warming up.”

“I figured.” I knew how this worked. Mrs. Davenport was going to get me to relax before she went in for the kill.

More photos lined the cramped hall we walked through to get to the kitchen. One caught my eye. It looked like a recent photo of Lanie sitting on a rock in the middle of a river. The sun’s rays were gently falling on her glistening skin, only covered in a swimsuit with a sheer wrap around her waist. It looked like something straight out of a magazine. My pulse raced as a dangerous desire pounded in my chest. I kept telling myself to look away, but my beautiful roommate had me entranced. I almost reached out to touch the photo but clenched my fist before I could do anything stupid.

Lanie stopped and noticed my gaze. “Mama took that last year during one of our family picnics. It was the last one we had with Daddy,” she said with some emotion. “She fancies herself an amateur photographer.”

“She’s good,” I stuttered like a twitterpated fool.

Lanie playfully nudged me, which didn’t help the situation. Her touch only heightened my desire. Get a grip, man. You’re in the woman’s childhood home, under the watchful eye of her overbearing mother. Where do you think this could go, anyway? She’s too young. And remember Maren? Unfortunately, Maren was a constant reminder of how wrong I could be. I tore my eyes away from the photo and stepped away from Lanie.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Just hungry,” I lied, but not entirely. I did have an appetite for something—her.

“Well, you came to the right place, then.”

I wasn’t sure I had. Spending the day with Lanie was opening doors that needed to remain closed.

When we walked into the modest U-shaped kitchen with a small eating nook, Mrs. Davenport zeroed in on me from where she stood near the refrigerator. It was as if she could read me like a book. She knew how attracted I was to her daughter. Or maybe she just figured since I was male and heterosexual, it went without saying. What man wouldn’t be attracted to Lanie? But Mrs. Davenport’s narrowed eyes and appraising look spoke of something more.

It was as if Mrs. Davenport was sizing me up. I couldn’t tell if it was to see how I fit into her daughter’s life or if she was gauging how big of a hole she would have to dig before she buried me in the backyard. I opened my mouth to swear I would never touch her daughter and the only place I had in her life was as part of the experiment, but the thought came to me: What if there came a time that Lanie wanted me to touch her? Would I say no? Hell. These thoughts were going to lead to trouble and possibly to my death.

The gleam in Mrs. Davenport’s eyes said she either knew what I was thinking, or she was sure she could dig a hole big enough to throw me in. Either way, I was screwed.

It didn’t help when Lanie grabbed my hand. “Come sit down at the table. Do you want lemonade or sweet tea to drink?”

Her touch sent a shock wave through me that left me bumbling like an idiot. “Lemonade tea,” fell out of my mouth while I tried to ignore how well Lanie’s hand fit inside mine. The urge to keep hold of it scared the living daylights out of me. My only consolation was that Mrs. Davenport would probably poison me before the day was over. I’d listened to enough country songs when I was married to Maren to know how they dealt with men they didn’t like.

Lanie giggled. “Does that mean both, or do you want lemon in your sweet tea?”

“Anything,” I muttered, grateful she let go of my hand as soon as we reached the small round solid-oak table. It allowed some of my brain cells to function again. What was wrong with me? I was a thirty-nine-year-old man, not some infatuated teen. I’d dated plenty of beautiful women with whom I easily kept my head on straight. But I’d never encountered a Lanie before.

“I always love lemonade on Sunday afternoons. It just fits. Don’t you think?” Lanie exuded that maddening charm of hers.

I nodded, not sure exactly what I agreed to, but whatever it was, it sounded good coming out of Lanie’s mouth.

“I’ll be right back.” She tiptoed away.

It gave me a moment to breathe and regain my composure. That was until her mom landed next to me and set a large glass bowl of potato salad in front of me.

“I hope you’re hungry.” Her Cheshire Cat grin said there was a fair chance she’d poisoned it.

Death by potato salad wouldn’t be a bad way to go, I reasoned. “Yes, ma’am.”

She patted my back. More like whacked it and left a mark. “Help yourself,” she said before she leaned in and whispered, “but not to my daughter. At least not yet. There’s something about you, Parker Remington. I’m just not sure what it is right now. But don’t you worry, I’m going to figure it out. Then we’ll see what I’ll do with you.”

Unwisely, I decided the best thing to do was give her a blank look that said, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not the least bit interested in your daughter.

That’s when she leaned in closer and spoke right into my ear. “Nice try. You didn’t have to come here today. I expected you not to. Who am I to you? The fact that you came speaks to some feelings for my daughter. Don’t try to deny it,” she icily warned.

I’d heard the phrase put the fear of God in you, but I never fully understood the meaning of it until that moment. The crazy part was, I was more afraid of not being able to dispute her claims, as much as I wanted to, than I was of the shovel I noticed through the window, leaning against the fence in the backyard, just waiting to be used.

The biggest question on my mind was: Would I be able to avoid digging myself into a hole? A hole the size of Lanie.

“SO, WHAT’S UP WITH YOU and your roommate?” Val whispered while we were in the kitchen putting away the food from a little get-together with Parker’s friends and mine. Val and Daniel were the only guests left. Daniel was talking to Parker in the living room about the fascinating lives of grapes. He loved the fruit almost as much as he loved Val.

I ripped a piece of plastic wrap off the roll to place over a wooden bowl, giving my best friend an inquisitive glance. “What do you mean?”

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