“He had to make a phone call, but he’ll be here shortly.”
All at once, he seemed to sense her nervousness. “In case you’re wondering, I’m allowed to bring the horses here to drink. Mr. Chandler said I could.”
“You mean Jonathan?” she said, thinking of Tate’s father.
“No, Nathaniel.” His expression clouded. “He was a nice old man. We used to play chess together sometimes when he was here.”
From all accounts, that sounded like something Tate’s grandfather would do. “I’m sure you’ll be welcome to keep on doing that.” It was the country way, after all.
He fell into a grin. “Thanks.”
She smiled back, touched to see a genuine smile for a change. The past two weeks had been all about putting on a brave face, or a cool face, when she felt nothing like that inside.
The horse wandered to the water’s edge and began to drink. “That’s a nice horse. He’s a lovely color.”
“He’s a young racehorse.”
“I don’t know much about horses except that they like to eat hay.”
Rolly chuckled. “Yeah, hay and other things. This guy has a particular sweet tooth. I give him an apple sometimes. Not often though.” He patted the horse’s side. “Do you ride?”
“No. I’ve been pretty busy.” She didn’t say she’d never ridden a horse in her life. As nice as he was being to her, she should keep her distance. “Well, I’d best go and see what’s keeping Tate. It was nice meeting you, Rolly.”
“You too, Gemma.” He hesitated. “I come down here most days around this time. In case you want some company.”
He seemed to understand more about her than she’d assumed. He was offering a hand of friendship. It was very generous of him, and she appreciated it.#p#分页标题#e#
She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She went over to the stroller to strap Nathan back in. It only took a few moments. “Stay as long as you like,” she added as she straightened.
“Okay. Thanks again.”
Gemma headed back to the house with a lighter step. It was silly, but she really did feel as if she had made a friend, someone who had no real connection to the Chandlers and their condemnation. It was a pleasant relief, and one she wouldn’t spoil by mentioning it to Tate. He probably wouldn’t be interested anyway.
All was quiet as she stepped inside the kitchen, and she was surprised to see that an hour had passed. There was no sign of Tate, so she made herself a cup of coffee and gave Nathan a biscuit and a drink. They went into the sunroom, where he crawled around on the floor and played with a collection of small plastic containers she’d brought from the kitchen. The items kept him occupied for some time.
When he started to get tired, she carried him upstairs and put him to bed, taking the baby monitor with her downstairs. Now, alone, she finally had time to get her bearings. There were a variety of formal and informal living areas, a conservatory, a room with a pool table, another with a spa. Gemma wasn’t surprised Tate hadn’t mentioned the latter; they’d made full use of the spa in his penthouse two years ago.
Shying away from the memories, Gemma continued past the study door, now firmly closed, and headed back to the relaxed warmth of the sunroom, where she sat on a recliner and read a magazine. After a while, the warm room made her feel drowsy. Soon she closed the pages and leaned her head back, shutting her eyes for a mere moment…
The next thing she knew, a warm hand on her shoulder shook her awake. Her eyelids flew open and air escaped her lungs as she looked straight into Tate’s blue eyes. His intense look made her wonder how long he’d been watching her. In that one split second, what they’d had between them came rushing back—the excitement, the adrenaline rush, the sweet torment of bringing each other to climax…
Her stomach gave a quiver as she hastily sat up. Thankfully he moved back, and the moment was lost.
Forever? She’d thought so, but now she wasn’t sure.
“It’s past twelve,” he said, his voice sounding slightly gruff.
She pushed to her feet and tidied her hair. “You want lunch, I suppose.”
He scowled. “Yes, but I’m not asking you to do it. You’re my wife now, Gemma, not my servant.”
She liked that he wasn’t taking advantage of their relationship, and an odd tenderness wove through her even as she chastised herself for being such a pushover. Good Lord. What was she thinking by offering to make him lunch? He had a perfectly good pair of hands.
Dream hands, in fact.