“The air conditioner is on the blink.”
“You should call someone.”
Gemma tamped down the anger that flared in her chest at her mother’s patronizing tone. “I have. The parts haven’t arrived.” She inhaled for strength and gestured to the casserole. “What did you bring?”
“Lasagna.”
“Oh, nice. Can you stay and eat with me?”
Phyllipa nodded, then frowned at Gemma’s coat suspiciously. “It’s ninety degrees outside. Why on earth are you wearing a coat, dear?”
Gemma forced a shrug. “The weatherman predicted rain.”
Phyllipa squinted. “What kind of panty hose are you wearing?”
“Uh, they’re part of my work uniform.”
“Doing what?”
“I’ll explain over dinner,” Gemma said, turning toward the stairs. “Let me change first.” She bounded up the stairs as fast as the high heels would allow, then closed her bedroom door and exhaled. Her mother’s sense of timing hadn’t improved.
With her skin still tingling from being caught in a compromising position, she crossed to the picture window and glanced down. Chev was in the yard, hosing off the newly tiled walkway and watering large trees still in tubs, waiting to be planted. His work shirt gaped open and she shivered, remembering the smooth firmness of his skin as he pulled her body close to his. She reached out and touched her finger against the warm pane of glass, imagining the heat they could generate.
At that moment he glanced up and saw her. He wet his lips and stared blatantly, expectantly. The urge to expose herself to him seized her. Moving automatically, she untied her belt and allowed the thin coat to fall to the floor.
Chev’s hand slipped and water surged from the hose he held. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the edge of the red corset biting into the tender flesh of her breasts. She slowly unlaced the front of the corset, then peeled it off, allowing her breasts to fall free. Chev turned to face her, legs spread wide, the water hose hanging loose at this side. His brown skin glistened in the waning daylight, his jeans riding low enough to reveal the white waistband of his briefs. Her gaze went to the bulge there, and intense feminine satisfaction welled within her. She reached up to cup her aching breasts, longing for release.
A knock at the bedroom door sounded, crashing into her trancelike state. She gasped, crossed her arms over her breasts, and turned away from the window. “Yes?”
“Gemma,” her mother said through the door, “how about a nice salad?”
“Sounds good, Mom. Thanks. I’ll be right down.”
She pushed her hands into her hair and let out a sigh. What had she been thinking? Was she so out of control that she couldn’t even restrain herself when her own mother was in the house?
She practiced deep breathing, counting to ten. Then, somewhat calmer, she dressed in jeans and T-shirt, ignoring the pings of the sensitive areas of her body. The window was like a magnetic field, pulling at her. She avoided it and went downstairs to face her mother, a stone of dread in her stomach.
Phyllipa had donned an apron and was rinsing romaine lettuce at the sink while the microwave hummed away, warming the lasagna. Gemma stopped at the doorway of the kitchen and pursed her mouth, because her mother’s attention wasn’t on the salad. Instead, she was craning to look out the window, presumably for a glimpse of the “strange man” that Gemma had been adhered to.
“Dad didn’t want to come?” Gemma asked, snagging a tomato slice from a plate.
Her mother turned and wiped her hands on the apron. “He had something he needed to do.”
A big, fat lie. “The lasagna smells great.”
Her mother crossed her arms and assumed her parental stance. “So…are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Gemma felt herself being pulled along on the force of her mother’s not-so-subtle guilt trip. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Jason is barely out of the house and you’ve already taken up with someone else? Or maybe that was the reason he left in the first place?”
“No, that’s not the reason,” Gemma said through gritted teeth. “And I’m not going to explain my personal life to you, Mother.”
Her mother screwed up her mouth, which was too bad, because otherwise Phyllipa was a very attractive woman. But Gemma had a hard time imagining her cold, uptight mother being warm and intimate. No wonder her parents seemed so distant from each other.
“Have you talked to Jason lately?”
“As a matter of fact, I called to ask him what to do with the things he left behind, and he didn’t even have time to talk to me.”
“He’s a very busy man.”
“I know, Mother. I lived with him for ten years.”
Her mother began ripping the lettuce into chunks. “A marriage requires sacrifice, Gemma, especially when your husband has a demanding job.” Phyllipa nodded to the stack of rolled-up newspapers by the door. “Since you haven’t been keeping up with the news, you should know that Jason is in the middle of a very important drug case right now. I’m sure his stress level is through the roof. He needs all the support he can get.”
A lump of emotion lodged in Gemma’s throat. “Why are you making this out to be my fault? Whose side are you on?”
Phyllipa turned a compassionate eye on Gemma. “I’m on your side, dear. I want to see you safe and secure. Do you realize that Jason might be the next governor?”
Gemma bit down on the inside of her cheek. “This isn’t what I’d planned either, Mom, but Jason has made it clear that he doesn’t want to be married to me.”
“Do you still love him?”
She hugged herself. “I…guess so. I miss him. I was blindsided, so I’m still getting used to the idea of not being married to him.”
Her mother came over and ran her hands up and down Gemma’s arms. “If you love him, you have to fight for him, dear. He’s probably going through a little midlife crisis. He’ll be back when he realizes that he can’t live without you.”
Phyllipa smiled, her eyes bright with concern and sincerity, and Gemma felt her mother’s love wash over her. She made the scenario that Gemma had initially fantasized about—of Jason coming back—seem possible. And preferable. But so much water had passed under the bridge…she was growing stronger and more independent every day, looking forward to finding her own way. “Mom, I’m not sure that I would welcome Jason back.”
“That’s your anger talking,” her mother said quietly, squeezing Gemma’s shoulders. “And you’re entitled to it. But don’t let it harden you to the possibility of patching things up with Jason. The best thing you can do right now is to let him cool his heels. He’ll come to his senses.”
Her mother had a way of making things sound so simple. If only. Gemma decided not to respond, to merely let her mother think what she wanted. In time Phyllipa would have to accept reality.
Her mother pulled her into a rocking hug, then withdrew and angled her head. “In the meantime, don’t do something that might make it even harder for the two of you to reconcile.”
The reference to Chev was unmistakable. Warmth flooded her face, but Gemma was saved from responding when the microwave chimed, effectively distracting her mother. She made it through the meal with small talk about the weather and asking about her mother’s book club. When the subject of her job came up, she said she was working for a local museum.
“From the looks of the panty hose you were wearing, they must have a strange dress code,” Phyllipa observed.
Gemma simply nodded and complimented the food. Fortunately, her mother didn’t like driving in the dark, so she left soon after they were finished eating. Gemma stood on the porch and waved as her mother pulled away. When the car was gone, she stole a glance next door and saw that a few lights were on. Chev was still working, probably on the yards of wood molding that still needed to be repaired. The man obviously enjoyed working with his hands, but he was intelligent, too. And oh, so sexy in an earthy way that appealed to her baser instincts.
In fact, she wondered if her exhibitionism would have been so quickly revived if he hadn’t been such a willing participant, located so conveniently next door, with a bird’s-eye view into her bedroom. Probably not, she decided with a little bubble of resentment that she allowed to grow. He was, at least partially, responsible for her wicked behavior.
Feeling marginally absolved, Gemma turned and walked back inside, scooping up the unread newspapers. Her mother’s comments about Jason had piqued her interest. She had to admit that she missed being in the middle of state politics.
Poring over the pages of the papers, her heart caught at the pictures of Jason at a press conference, or striding into the capitol building, looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. A gag order had been issued regarding the drug case.
No matter what had happened between them, she still respected him for rising to such an impressive office. He was, as her mother had indicated, probably headed for the governor’s mansion. To think that she might have been the first lady of the state….
The phone rang, piercing into her thoughts, jangling her nerves. She glanced at the caller ID and noted it was coming from a private source. Afraid it was that pesky reporter Wilcox again, she almost didn’t answer. After the fourth ring, however, she changed her mind.