Читать книгу Real Men: Rugged Rebels: Watch and Learn / Under His Skin / Her Perfect Hero - Jeanie London, Jeanie London - Страница 18

“SO HOW’S THE HUNKY NEIGHBOR?” Sue Asked.

“Fine,” Gemma answered cautiously into her cell phone. Over the past couple of days she and Chev had fallen into the role of … cheerful neighbors. He helped to chase the bothersome peacock from her yard, she answered any questions he had about the house and worked on the mural in her free time.

And she scrupulously avoided her bedroom window.

Meanwhile, he had respected the distance she’d put between them since her mother’s visit, with no questions. Although when they’d discussed the mosaic for the pool renovation last evening, she had felt his hungry gaze on her.

And she’d reveled in it.

“I think you should go for it,” Sue said, as if she could read her mind. “He sounds like the perfect prospect for a rebound affair. I say the sooner, the better.”

Gemma stretched forward to glance at the steel-gray clouds hanging low that did not bode well for a quick commute to the museum. “What, is there a clock ticking on my sexuality?”

“You said he’s not going to be around for long.”

“And?”

“And Dr. Alexander would tell you to follow your instincts.”

“Dr. Alexander isn’t around,” Gemma said. If she were, Gemma would be tempted to tell her that the little experiment in class ten years ago had nearly been her undoing—then and now.

“Are those letters of yours giving you any ideas?” Sue asked in a suggestive voice.

“They’re the words of a naive schoolgirl,” Gemma said, as if she were trying to convince herself. “Let’s just say they have no basis in reality.”

Sue laughed. “But then reality can be such a drag.”

“Have you talked to Jason?” Gemma asked to change the thorny subject.

“Not for a while,” Sue said, her voice cagey. “Has he called again?”

“No.”

“Good. I hope he doesn’t.”

“Sue, for heaven’s sake, don’t you think that Jason and I should at least be friends?”

“I just don’t want you to fall under his spell again.”

Gemma laughed. “You make it sound like I have no power to resist him.”

“Jason makes his living persuading people, Gemma. And he’s the only man you’ve ever slept with—that’s powerful stuff.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions. Jason didn’t say anything about wanting to get back together. And I didn’t say anything about wanting him to.”

“But you do.”

Gemma sighed. “Okay, maybe a tiny part of me would like the satisfaction of hearing him say he made a mistake. Is that so wrong?”

“No,” Sue admitted. “I just think you’re on the verge of having your own life, and I don’t want to see you get folded back into Jason’s.”

Gemma didn’t respond, fighting unexpected pangs of doubt. Having her own life was being dressed like a call girl, on her way to a job that would mortify her parents—and Jason. And looking forward to it, God help her. Especially since she hadn’t been getting her fix at home, exhibiting for Chev.

Rain splattered on the windshield. “It’s starting to rain, so I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay, bye.”

Gemma hung up just as the gray sky unleashed on the city. She flipped on her headlights and wipers and slowed to accommodate the low visibility. She wondered how the weather would affect attendance today at the museum.

She parked in the museum employee lot, then ran through the rain that was now coming down in sheets. Poor Chev—the pool excavation would be stalled in this soup.

In the lobby, she shook her umbrella and smiled at Lillian, who had also just arrived.

“Join me for a cup of coffee?” Lillian asked.

Gemma nodded, shivering. By mutual agreement, they kept their coats on to cover their risqué outfits when they went into the break room and poured steaming cups of coffee. Gemma added creamer to hers, Lillian took hers black. They sat at a table in the corner.

“Nasty day,” Lillian offered.

Gemma nodded and sipped the scalding coffee.

“You look a little down,” the woman offered. The pink streak in her hair matched her youthful attitude. “Want to talk about it?”

Gemma shrugged. “It’s nothing specific. Did you ever feel as if your life hadn’t turned out the way it was supposed to?”

Lillian’s extraordinary violet-colored eyes danced with good cheer. “I guess I didn’t plan that far ahead. I tend to take happiness as it comes, and other than my brokerage account for retirement, I try not to outthink tomorrow.” She smiled into her coffee, then took a generous sip.

“Easier said than done,” Gemma said wistfully.

“Not really. I’m a tad older than you, so maybe that gives me more perspective. But the only times in my life I’ve ever been unhappy were the times I was living to make someone else happy—my parents, a boyfriend, my husband.”

“You were married?”

“For five glorious years … and two horrible ones.” Lillian gave a little laugh.

“I’m divorced, too,” Gemma said, and realized it was the first time she’d said the words aloud without flinching.

“Life is too short to be with someone who doesn’t make you happy.”

Two male employees came in and looked their way while they filled their coffee cups, devouring the women’s legs, Lillian’s in sheer black stockings, ending in black stilettos, Gemma’s bare and tanned, ending in red peep-toe platforms. Gemma felt a little rush of adrenaline, and noticed that Lillian sat taller, too. The men smiled and waved, then left, exchanging regretful glances.

Gemma ran her finger around the top of her coffee cup. “But what if what makes you happy … isn’t good for you?”

“You mean like drugs or alcohol?”

“No … this is a different kind of addiction.”

Lillian nodded thoughtfully. “Does it hurt anyone else?”

“No … the participants are … willing.”

“Does it expose you to harm?”

“Not if I’m discreet.”

The woman smiled brightly. “Then what’s the harm?”

“The guilt,” Gemma whispered. “And I’m afraid it will keep me from growing close to someone.”

Lillian took another drink of her coffee. “Did your ex go along with it?”

Gemma wet her lips. It was strange—and liberating—to talk to another admitted exhibitionist. “No. He knew nothing about it.”

“And were you close to him?”

“As it turns out, no.”

“So depriving yourself didn’t bring you the closeness you crave either, did it?”

Gemma shook her head, realizing the woman spoke from experience.

Lillian patted her hand and lowered her voice to a whisper. “So why deprive yourself? The right man will accept you and all your delicious inclinations.” She glanced at her watch. “We’re up in fifteen minutes, and I’d like to stop by the ladies’ room. See you later?”

Gemma smiled and nodded, then sat at the table a little while longer looking for answers in the depths of her coffee. She wished she had Lillian’s fearless outlook, could be so comfortable with her inclinations. She took a drink from her cup, remembering that for a few weeks during her senior year in college, she had been fearless.

But her fearlessness had also nearly ruined her life.

She turned her mind away from the disturbing murky memories, then emptied her cup. Still nursing more questions than answers, Gemma walked toward the cloakroom. The woman at the counter smirked when Gemma shrugged out of her coat, revealing her short red skirt and white bustier. Gemma ignored the woman’s slight because her midsection was already tingling at the anticipation of leading the first tour of the day. When she walked up to the meeting place, she saw that the rain hadn’t hurt today’s reservations. If anything, the crowds were more swollen than usual.

The tours lasted anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour, at the discretion of the guide, with a fifteen-minute break in between each tour. Gemma finished two tours before lunch, then ate with Lillian in the employee break room. It was becoming a habit, chatting away the hour. Lillian seemed to always know what to say, steering clear of talk about family and Gemma’s ex, keeping the conversation light and breezy. The woman was well traveled and well read, with a wicked sense of humor.

Gemma laughed at something that Lillian said and realized with a start that she and Chev were the only people in her life who didn’t know or weren’t somehow connected to Jason.

Then bizarrely, she heard Jason’s name on the television mounted high in a corner of the break room. She glanced up to see a clip showing Jason artfully dodging questions about the prosecution of the statewide drug ring that she’d read about in the papers. He sat behind a grand desk in what appeared to be his new office. His framed law degree hung on the wall behind him, and Gemma wondered idly what he had done with the photo of her that had once sat on his desk, wondered what the view was like from his office window. And was that a new suit? Her chest tightened unexpectedly at the proof that there was now a big chunk of his life that she’d been excluded from.

“He’s handsome in a scholarly sort of way,” Lillian offered, noting Gemma’s sudden interest in the TV.

“Yes, he is,” Gemma murmured. Her tongue watered to say the words that until recently she had been married to the handsome, powerful man. But she was mindful of the need for discretion in revealing her relationship to Jason to anyone she worked with. If word leaked out that she was giving tours for an X-rated exhibit, the press would have a field day … and her “delicious inclinations,” as Lillian had called them, would be exposed.

“Funny,” Lillian said, “but I pegged you for liking a different kind of man.”

“What do you mean?”

Lillian shrugged her slender, toned shoulders. “I don’t know, I just pictured you with someone a little more … free-spirited.”

Gemma didn’t respond, but the image of an exotic, brown-skinned man rose in her mind.

Lillian wadded up the paper wrapper from her sandwich and grinned. “Life is a smorgasbord. See you out there.” She pushed to her feet and walked away.

Gemma finished eating lunch and took a few minutes to freshen up. Two more tours to go before calling it a day. Her step quickened as she neared the meeting place and slid her mask into place. Her body was already smoldering from the morning tours. Beneath the red skirt, she wore a white thong that bit into her skin with the insistence of a lover. Her clit was swollen and sensitive from the constant friction … just the way she liked it. She’d have to take it easy this afternoon or she might lose control and wind up giving the wide-eyed attendees a show they hadn’t bargained for.

She extended a smile to the people already gathered for the first afternoon tour. “Welcome,” she said warmly.

“We’ve been looking forward to this all week,” a woman said, gesturing to a man next to her that Gemma assumed to be the woman’s husband. “Our marriage counselor suggested that we come.”

“That’s nice,” Gemma said. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’m having fun already,” a guy standing nearby said, eyeing her bare legs. Everyone laughed, Gemma included, identifying the resident flirt of the group. There was always one guy who thought he could tease his way to getting Gemma’s number at the end of the tour. What he didn’t realize was that Gemma’s “watch and learn” mantra extended to more than just the tour.

The area filled with more people, all slightly damp from the rain still falling outside. Warm, moist bodies, producing pungent odors, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation. Gemma silently counted heads, then squinted. The man in the back dressed in dark slacks and short-sleeve formfitting white shirt looked like … wait a minute—it couldn’t be.

Chev?

He gave her a little nod of acknowledgment, then his gaze flicked over her costume. He must have abandoned his work site for the day due to the rain. A bolt of pure sexual electricity lit up her body at the realization that he would be watching her on the tour … and watching other people watch her. Pleasure coursed through her, but she was suddenly nervous, smoothing her hair behind her ear and fidgeting with her hands. Her thong suddenly seemed even more invasive.

After a deep breath to calm her nerves, she asked for the group’s attention and announced they were about to begin. “A reminder that no pictures are allowed for this exhibit. Please keep your cameras stowed at all times.”

As she scanned the faces in the crowd, she stopped abruptly. Lewis Wilcox—the reporter who had tried to thwart Jason’s election and who had left her voice messages since the divorce. Alarm washed over her. Did he somehow know her identity? At the moment he was staring at her legs. She held her breath, but when his gaze reached her face, he gave the mask no more than a cursory glance. She relaxed a little, conceding it was just bad luck that he would be the reporter the TV station would send to check out the tour and that he’d wound up in her group. At least she had the mask to protect her identity. She was grateful she’d never talked to the man on the phone, so there was no way he’d recognize her voice.

Chev was frowning at her and mouthed Are you okay? She nodded and gave him a singular smile, grateful for his concern, even if he didn’t know the source. She started the tour and, within a couple of minutes, became immersed in her lecture. She tried not to seek out Chev’s face, but she couldn’t help it. If the man cut a sexy figure in his faded work clothes, he was devastating in dress clothes. Not surprisingly, he was garnering a few looks of his own from women in the group, but he seemed unaware. He seemed, she realized happily, to have eyes only for her.

CHEV HADN’T BEEN SURE what to expect, wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get in Gemma’s group. In fact, he’d first landed in a group led by a petite, curvy woman with a pink streak in her black hair. When she’d noticed him craning, hoping for a glimpse of Gemma, the woman had quietly asked him if he was looking for another guide. When he’d nodded, she had covertly pointed him through another door where he found Gemma corralling a crowd of about twenty-five people.

The sight of her in the sexy red-and-white getup made his mouth water and his cock twitch. Her legs were long and bare and tanned. And that black mask of hers made him feel … proprietary. It was as if they shared a secret over the heads of the other people standing between her and him.

As she welcomed the group and gave them a brief overview of the exhibit, his chest warmed with admiration. She was engaging, her voice low and husky. A natural performer, and these people hadn’t even seen her best show.

She led the group into the first area that housed nude photography that dated practically as far back as the time when photography was first invented. She moved like a cat, her limbs lithe and limber, her curves straining against the confines of the snug red skirt and white bustier. He stayed in the back of the crowd, felt the temperature of the group’s collective libido rise as she explained the risks taken by the models and the photographers to capture the provocative images.

His own fire was stoked higher, not by the pictures of the white-thighed women in the photos who hid their faces from the camera, but by the heightened color in Gemma’s cheeks as she caught his eye. Her mouth curved into the most sexy smile, setting off the beauty mark near the corner of her mouth.

“Blondie’s hot, isn’t she?” a man next to him whispered.

Anger sparked in Chev’s belly watching the man salivate. Protective feelings crowded his chest. He wanted to pick Gemma up and carry her out of there, but he knew she enjoyed this part of the job … being watched.

And who was he to get between her and her fetish? Nobody, just a guy passing through. One of the many drooling guys who enjoyed looking at her, except he couldn’t get enough, was starting to feel compulsively … attached.

As the tour progressed, she exchanged frequent glances with him, her body language becoming more animated. His body responded in kind until his erection throbbed against the fly of his dress slacks, his balls full and achy. From the photography exhibit, she led the group into a room of sexual devices. She donned a pair of white gloves and removed a couple of the primitive dildos from their containers. He saw the man who had made the comment about Gemma being hot stealthily lift a cell phone and snap a couple of photos. Chev nudged the man’s arm, then shook his head meaningfully. The jerk looked sheepish and put away the phone.

A slow burn was consuming Chev by the time Gemma led the group into the room housing sex furniture. Perspiration trickled down his back, and his hands fairly shook from wanting to touch her. She lectured on the surprising number of beds, swings, benches and chairs built through the ages especially to aid in having sex or having sex in more interesting ways.

Behind the black mask, Gemma’s eyes were bright and her hands languid as she touched the sometimes humorous-looking contraptions. But some of the more modern pieces of formed maple and leather upholstery were beautifully crafted and sent his mind spiraling in carnal directions,picturing Gemma draped over the contours, positioning her supple body perfectly to receive his.

Chev gave himself a mental shake and exhaled slowly. His body was like a furnace and every glance from Gemma in her red-and-white peep-show outfit added fuel to his fire. Worse, he suspected every man in the group was on the verge of incineration. He didn’t like the idea of other men looking at Gemma, sporting hard-ons for her, but he could tolerate it if he knew he’d be in her bed tonight.

In truth, he’d settle for watching her undress and pleasure herself.

But at the end of the tour, despite the fact that he was burning up for her, Chev didn’t seek her out. He sensed that the more he behaved like a stranger, the more intrigued she would be. It was a tactic he didn’t like, but if it gave him a chance to get closer to Gemma in the long run, then it was worth pretending. So when she bade the group goodbye and caught his eye, he nodded curtly and beat a hasty exit out of the museum.

The rain was still slashing down, but Chev skipped an umbrella. He jogged through the downpour to his truck and climbed inside, drenched. Driving his fingers into his damp hair, he exhaled loudly. He’d hoped the wetness would cool his desire for Gemma, but it hadn’t.

And it was time to face the fact that his longing for her had moved from something physical to something essential.