I didn’t sleep a wink. I kept thinking about how disastrously the night could have ended. For me, acting out my fantasy nearly led to my ruin.
And the worst part of it all? It’s been only two days and I want to do it again.
Gemma pushed to her feet and paced, feeling flushed. The bad memories from that night came back to her in snatches of pure emotion—the shock of the raid, the horror of trying to outrun the police, the fear that had lingered for days that they would somehow discover she had been at the club and come to arrest her. As it turned out, the club had been a front for a drug operation. She had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But at the time, it had seemed like retribution…karma for doing something so wicked. The incident had, so to speak, scared her straight. She’d told Sue she wanted to meet her straitlaced friend and had latched on to Jason like a lifeline. He had saved her from herself.
Gemma stared at the letter in her hand with disdain. Its timely appearance had reawakened dormant impulses, had sent her to the window to undress for Chev, had pushed her into taking a sordid job at the museum. Once again, she was on the verge of being revealed…and once again Jason was in a position to save her. These subversive impulses of hers could lead nowhere—nowhere good, that is.
She glanced at the picture window but forced herself not to go there—literally and figuratively.
Gemma found a book of matches and lit one. With a shaking hand, she held up the fantasies letter and lit one corner. The pages began to char and curl, destroying the words and, she hoped, the urges they described. She dropped the letter into a metal trash can and drained her glass of wine while watching the flowered sheets of stationery disintegrate into a little pile of white ashes.
She had gotten another reprieve. She and Jason could marry again, quietly, maybe in Belize or Hawaii, and start a new phase of their life. She would slip back into her role as Jason’s assistant, head hostess and all-around helpmate. He would appreciate her this time. They would be partners. He would be governor someday, then probably head for Congress or the U.S. Attorney’s office. They would once again be the golden couple.
And she could put this naughty little exhibitionist phase behind her. Again.
18
GEMMA LOVED to make love in the morning. She rolled over and palmed the area of the mattress that, with a single phone call, would once again be occupied by Jason. He wasn’t a morning person when it came to sex, but in the scheme of things, it was a very small price to pay. Marriage was more than great, earth-shattering, mind-bending sex.
The hum of the air conditioner filled the air. And even through the closed windows, she could hear the construction noises from next door.
Since Jason’s visit yesterday, she had forced herself not to think of Chev, told herself that he couldn’t figure into her decision to go back to Jason. He would, after all, be leaving soon. Their time together had been simply a pleasurable diversion, nothing more.
She reached for the phone to call Jean at the employment agency, planning to tell her that she was quitting her job with the museum. But at the last second, she instead dialed Lillian’s cell phone number.
“Hello?” The woman’s voice trilled over the line, low and honeyed.
“Lillian, it’s Gemma.”
“Hi, doll. What’s up?”
“I…” Why did the prospect of telling Lillian that she was quitting her job make her feel as if she was denying something they both knew to be true? “I’m not feeling well today.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I can cover for you if you like.”
She exhaled in relief. “I would appreciate it.”
“No problem. I hope whatever’s wrong will run its course soon.”
The woman was nothing if not perceptive. “I think it will,” Gemma murmured. “Thanks again for covering for me.”
She hung up the phone, feeling torn. Why was she stalling on what seemed to be an obvious answer to her dilemma? Was she postponing her decision to prolong Jason’s agony? Her attention traveled to the picture window. Or was she simply giving herself time to tie up loose ends?
* * *
“CHEV?”
He turned his head to see his foreman’s face creased in frustration. “Sorry, what?”
“Man, where is your head today?” Then the man looked past him to Gemma’s house, and he scoffed. “Dude, you’re worse than that lovesick peacock strutting around in her yard.”
Chev straightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, right.” He clapped Chev on the shoulder. “We’re ready to unveil the pool.”
Reluctantly, Chev dragged his gaze away from Gemma’s house. The peacock was back, parading around her yard, its tail unfurled, calling like some kind of horny lawn ornament.
He knew how the bird felt. He kept hoping Gemma would emerge so he could rescue her from the nuisance again. A pathetic ruse, like thinking he could rescue her from her ex-husband last night. It was obvious she hadn’t wanted to be rescued. She was still hung up on the guy. And why not? He was successful and powerful, not a jack-of-all-trades carpenter who moved around like a Gypsy.
But the man had also broken her heart. He couldn’t love her if he had put her through that kind of torment.
“Whoops, here she comes,” the foreman said. “The pool can wait until later.”
Chev turned to see Gemma walking down her front steps wearing jeans and a sunny T-shirt, carrying what appeared to be a rolled-up canvas. To his dismay, just the sight of her made his big, stupid heart swell.
He had it bad for this woman.
He moved toward her at the same time as the peacock, who thrust its head forward and unleashed a torrent of calls. At her expression of half irritation, half fear, a pang of remorse struck his chest. She didn’t need the extra aggravation of him or the bird in her life.
She hurried toward him, and the bird followed her as fast as its cumbersome tail would allow. He couldn’t help laughing, though, and happily positioned himself between her and the peacock, stomping his foot to send it scrambling back to her yard, yelping.
“Hi,” he said, smothering a smile.
“Hi,” she said, her color high, her voice exasperated. “I’ll be so glad to be rid of that bird!”
He arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you hoping it will leave, or are you planning to leave first?”
She averted her eyes and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about last night. I…wasn’t expecting Jason to drop by.” She fidgeted. “He’s a powerful man…he’s accustomed to getting his way.”
“I know who he is,” Chev said. “I watch the news.”
A flush climbed her face. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
“Does he want to get back together?” he blurted. As soon as the words left his mouth, though, he raised his hands. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.” But he could tell from her body language that he had guessed correctly.
She held up the canvas with a smile. “The mural is dry.”
“Great. I have the frame ready, but I could use a hand installing it, if you have a few minutes.” A thinly veiled excuse to keep her within arm’s length.
“Glad to help,” she said cheerfully, but her nervousness was apparent in the stiffness of her shoulders, her quick hand movements.
He wanted to say something to put her at ease, but it felt hypocritical when his unsolicited cock was swelling in his pants.
He led her into the house, which reeked of fresh paint and sawdust, and echoed with the sound of hammers in distant rooms finding their mark.
“Everything is coming together so beautifully,” she said, running a shapely hand along the woodwork of the new chair rail that ran throughout the house.
He remembered exactly what it had felt like to have her hand running along the indentation of his spine. “Thank you. Your opinion means a lot to me. You’ve been so helpful, Gemma.”
She smiled. “Speaking of helpful, the air conditioner is working perfectly.”
“Good. So you slept well last night?”
She hesitated. “Reasonably well.”
He held her gaze for a few seconds, trying to telegraph his hopeless feelings for her. Finally he smiled in concession. “I can’t wait to see the mural on the wall.”
Once in the kitchen, he held the end of the stiff canvas and allowed her to carefully unroll it, revealing the colorful, gestural landscape. Together they positioned it on the wall where the deteriorated canvas had been removed. Once the painting was centered, he tacked the corners with penny nails, then stood back to admire it. “It’s perfect,” he said. “It’ll be a nice selling point, and I’m sure the new owners will enjoy it every day.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Gemma said, clearly pleased.
From the long farmhouse table, he selected the four pieces of mitered seasoned oak he’d carefully measured and cut. Using a drill, he put tiny pilot holes in the frame, then screwed them in place around the canvas. The effect was an old-fashioned built-in mural that might have been in the house for generations.
“Nice,” he said, giving her a grateful smile.
“I guess this means we’re…even,” she said.
Chev knew a brush-off when he heard it. “I guess that means you won’t be coming to the party tomorrow night.”