Читать книгу The Duchess Diaries - Merline Lovelace - Страница 15

Six

Gina was having the best dream. She was cradled in strong arms, held against a warm, hard chest. She felt so safe, so secure. So treasured. Like something precious and fragile, which even in her dream she knew she wasn’t. Savoring the sensation of being sheltered and protected, she ignored a pesky pressure low in her belly and nuzzled her nose into something soft and squeezy.

The soft and squeezy, her hazy mind determined a moment later, was her pillow. And that irritating pressure was her bladder demanding relief. She pried up an eyelid and made out the dim outlines of her bedroom. The faint glow of the night-light always left on showed she was tucked under the satin throw she normally kept folded at the foot of the bed. She was also fully dressed.

Grunting, she got an elbow under her and sat up. Her slept-in clothes felt scratchy and twisted and tight. Long strands of purple hair fell across her eyes. She brushed them back and tossed aside the throw. Still groggy, she made her way to the bathroom. Once back in the bedroom she shed her clothes and slid into bed, between the sheets this time.

Sleep tugged at her. She drifted toward it on the vague remnants of her dream. Those strong arms... That steady pulse of a heartbeat under her cheek...

“Jack?”

She sat up again, suddenly and fully awake, and flipped onto her other hip. The covers on the other side of the bed lay smooth and flat. Intense and totally absurd disappointment made her scrunch her face in disgust.

“Idiot! Like the man’s going to crawl into bed with you? Right here, in the apartment? And Grandmama only a snore away?”

She flopped back down and yanked the sheet up to her chin. In almost the next breath, her disappointment took a sharp right turn into thigh-clenching need. The hunger shot straight from her breasts to her belly. From there it surged to every extremity, until even her fingernails itched with it.

She stared at the ceiling, her breath coming hot and fast. Images fast-forwarded in her mind. Jack leaning over her, his muscles slick and taunt. Jack laughing as she rolled him onto his back and straddled him. Jack’s hands splayed on her naked hips and his jaw tight while he rose up to meet her downward thrust.

Oh, man! She should have expected this. One of the pamphlets Dr. Martinson had provided specifically addressed the issue of heightened sex drive during pregnancy. The rampaging hormones, the supersensitive breasts, the increased blood supply to the vulva— Taken together they could brew up a perfect storm of insatiable physical hunger.

Gina was there. Smack in the eye of the storm. She ached for Jack. She wanted him on her and in her and...

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!”

Throwing off the sheet, she stalked to the antique dressing table with its tri-fold mirror, marble top and dozens of tiny drawers. She couldn’t begin to count the number of hours she’d spent at this table. First as a youngster playing dress-up in Grandmama’s pearls and Sarah’s lacy peignoir. Then as a preteen, giggling with her girlfriends while they pirouetted in panties and training bras to show off their budding figures. After that came the high school years of mascara and eye shadow and love notes and trinkets from a steady stream of boys drooling over her nicely filled-out curves.

The notes and trinkets were long gone but her trusty vibrator was tucked in its usual drawer. She didn’t have to resort to it often, but this...this gnawing hunger constituted a medical emergency.

So much of an emergency that the relief was almost instantaneous. And too damned short-lived! Gina tried to go from limp and languid into sleep. Jack kept getting in the way. Had he been bummed about dinner? Did he and Grandmama go without her? Would he try to see her again before he flew back to Washington?

* * *

She was forced to wait for the answers to those questions. With the manga birthday party set to kick off at 11:00 a.m., she had to leave for work before the duchess emerged from her bedroom. Maria came in at midmorning on Saturdays so Gina got no help from that quarter, either.

She toyed with the idea of calling Jack during the short subway ride to midtown, but all-too-vivid memories of last night’s searing hunger kept her cell phone in her purse. The memories raised heat in her cheeks. She suspected that hearing his voice, all deep and rich, would produce even more graphic effects. She wasn’t showing up for work with her nipples threatening to poke through bra and blouse.

That didn’t stop said nipples from sitting up and taking notice, however, when Jack contacted her just after nine-thirty.

“How are you doing, sleepyhead?”

“Better this morning than last night.” Jamming the phone between her chin and shoulder, she initialed the final seating plan and handed it to Kallie to add table numbers to name tags. “Sorry I zonked out on you.”

“No problem. The duchess didn’t want to leave you, so we ordered in.”

“Corned beef on rye from Osterman’s, right?”

“How did you know?”

“That’s what we usually order in.”

“We had a nice, long talk while we ate, by the way.”

“Uh-oh! Did she leave any stones from my misspent youth unturned?”

“One or two. She said you’ll have to turn over the rest yourself. She also said she was meeting with her opera club this evening. So that leaves just us. We can do a make-up dinner. Unless you have to work...”

He’d left her an easy out. It said much for Gina’s state of mind that she didn’t even consider taking it.

“I’m doing the party kickoff but Samuel’s taking cleanup. I should be done here by three.”

“I’ll pick you up then.”

“Kind of early for dinner,” she commented.

“We’ll find something to do.”

* * *

His breezy confidence took a hit when she slid into the cab he drove up in. Groaning, she let her purpled head drop onto the seat back.

“Next time I tell you I’m helping with a birthday party for a slew of eight-and nine-year-olds, be kind. Just shoot me right between the eyes.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

“Guess that means you’re not up for a stroll down Fifth Avenue.”

“Do I look like I’m up for a stroll?”

“Well...”

She angled her head and studied him through a thick screen of purple-tipped lashes. “You, bastard that you are, appear relaxed and refreshed and disgustingly up for anything.”

Jack laughed and decided not to bore her with the details of his day, which had kicked off at 4:32 a.m. with a call from the State Department’s twenty-four-hour crisis monitoring desk. They reported that an angry crowd had gathered at the U.S. Embassy in Islamabad, and a debate was raging within the department over whether to reinforce the marine guard by flying in a fleet antiterrorist security team. Thankfully, the crowd dispersed with no shots fired and no FAST team required, but Jack had spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon reading the message traffic and analyzing the flash points that had precipitated the seemingly spontaneous mob.

Although the crisis had been averted, Jack knew he should have jumped a shuttle and flown back to D.C. His decision to remain in New York another night had surprised him almost as it had his chief of staff, Dale Vickers.

Jack had first met Dale at Harvard, when they both were enrolled in the Kennedy School of Government. Like Jack, Dale had also gone into the Foreign Service and had spent almost a decade in the field as a Foreign Service Officer until increasingly severe bouts of asthma chained him to a desk at State Department headquarters. Chained being the operative word. Unmarried and fiercely dedicated, Vickers spent fourteen to sixteen hours a day, every day, at his desk.

Jack appreciated his second-in-command’s devotion. He didn’t appreciate the disdain that crept into Vickers’s voice after learning his boss intended to stay another night in New York.

“We’ve kept your relationship with Ms. St. Sebastian out of the press so far, Ambassador. I’m not sure how much longer we can continue to do so.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t.”

“Easy for you to say,” Dale sniffed, displaying the prissy side he didn’t even suspect he possessed. “Media relations is my job.”

“I repeat, don’t worry about it. If and when the story breaks, Ms. St. Sebastian and I will handle it.”

That was met with a short, charged silence. Jack had worked with Vickers long enough now to know there was more to come. It came slowly, with seeming reluctance.

“You might want to discuss the slant we should give Ms. Sebastian’s pregnancy with your father, Ambassador. He expressed some rather strong views on the matter when he called here and I told him you were in New York.”

“First,” Jack said coldly, “I don’t want you discussing my personal affairs with anyone, including my father. Second, there is no slant. Gina St. Sebastian is pregnant with my child. What happens next is our business. Not the media’s. Not the State Department’s. Not my father’s. Not yours. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll let you know when I book the return shuttle to D.C.”

Fragments of that conversation played in Jack’s mind now as he studied the purple-tipped lashes framing Gina’s eyes. When his gaze drifted from those purple tips to her hair, he found himself repressing an inner qualm at the prospect of bumping into some member of the paparazzi. Jack could only imagine his father’s reaction to seeing Gina splashed across the tabloids in her manga persona.

John Harris II still mourned Catherine’s death but in recent years he’d turned his energy to finding a suitable replacement. Preferably someone with his daughter-in-law’s family wealth and political connections. He would accept an outsider if pushed to the edge. But Gina...?

“What are you thinking?” she asked, yanking Jack back to the present.

Everything fell away except the woman next to him. He relaxed into a lazy sprawl, his thighs and hips matched with hers. “I’m thinking I skipped lunch. How about you? Did you scarf down whatever you ordered up for that slew of eight-and nine-year-olds?”

“Puh-leez.” Her shoulders quivered in an exaggerated shudder. “My system can only take so much sugar.”

Her system, and her baby.

Only now did Gina appreciate the 180-degree turn her diet had taken. She’d cut out all forms of alcohol the moment she’d suspected she was pregnant. After her initial appointment with Dr. Martinson, she’d also cut out caffeine and started tossing down neonatal vitamins brimming with iron and folic acid. She hadn’t experienced any middle-of-the-night cravings yet but suddenly, inexplicably, she had to have a foot-long smothered in sauerkraut.

“How does a picnic sound?” she asked. “One of my favorite street vendors works a corner close to Bryant Park. We could grab a couple of fat, juicy hot dogs and do some serious people watching.”

“I’m game.”

* * *

Bryant Park encapsulated everything Gina loved about New York. Located between 5th and 6th Avenues and bounded on the eastern side by the New York Public Library, it formed an island of leafy green amid an ocean of skyscrapers. On weekdays office workers crowded the park’s benches or stretched out on the lawn during their lunch hours. If they had the time and the ambition, they could also sign up for a Ping-Pong game or backgammon or a chess match. Out-of-towners, too, were drawn to the park’s gaily painted carousel, the free concerts, the movies under the stars and, glory of glory, the superclean public restrooms. Chattering in a dozen different languages, tourists wandered the glassed-in kiosks or collapsed at tables in the outdoor restaurant to take a breather from determined sightseeing.

This late in the afternoon Gina and Jack could have snagged a table at the Bryant Park Grill or the more informal café. She was a woman on a mission, however. Leaning forward, she instructed the cab driver to cruise a little way past the park and kept her eyes peeled for an aluminum-sided cart topped by a bright yellow umbrella.

“There he is. Pull over.”

Mere moments later she and Jack carried their soft drinks and foil-wrapped treasures into the park. Gina had ordered hers doused with a double helping of sauerkraut. Jack had gone the more conservative mustard-and-relish route. The scent had her salivating until they snagged an empty bench.

“Oh, God,” Gina moaned after the first bite. “This is almost better than sex.”

Jack cocked a brow and paused with his dog halfway to his mouth.

“I said ‘almost.’”

If she’d had a grain of common sense, she would have left it there. But, no. Like an idiot, she had to let her mouth run away with her.

“Not that I’ve had anything to compare it to in the past couple of months,” she mumbled around another bite.

“We can fix that.”

Jack tossed the words out so easily, so casually, that it took a second or two for his meaning to register. When it did, Gina choked on the bite she’d just taken.

“I’ve been doing my assigned reading,” he said as he gave her a helpful thump on the back. “A Father’s Guide to Pregnancy says it’s not uncommon for a woman’s libido to shoot into the stratosphere, particularly during the first trimester. It also warned me not to feel inadequate if I don’t satisfy what could turn into an insatiable appetite.”

He didn’t look all that concerned about the possibility. Just the opposite. The wicked glint in his brown eyes positively challenged Gina to give him a shot.

She wanted to. God, she wanted to! Just looking at his beautiful mouth with a tiny smear of mustard at the corner made her ache to lean in and lick it off. She had to gulp down a long slug of Sprite Zero to keep from giving in to the impulse.

“I appreciate the offer,” she said with what she hoped was a cheeky smile. “I’ll keep it in mind if I run out of batteries.”

“Ouch.”

He put on a good show of being wounded, but when the laughter faded from his eyes she saw the utter seriousness in their depths.

“I know you want a relationship based on more than just sex, Gina. I’m hoping we can build that partnership.”

“I know you are.”

“We’re not there yet,” he admitted with brutal honesty, “but we’re getting closer.”

Ha! He could speak for himself. She was standing right on the edge, and every moment she spent with this man cut more ground from under her feet. All it would take was one gentle push. She’d fall for him so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him.

Unfortunately, everything else would fall with her. Her fledgling career. Her self-respect. Her pride. She was just starting to feel good about herself. Just beginning to believe she could be the responsible parent she wanted so desperately to become.

Oh, hell! Who was she kidding? She would dump it all in a heartbeat if Jack loved her.

But he didn’t. Yet.

So she wouldn’t. Yet.

Consoled by the possibilities embedded in that little three-letter word, she tried to keep it light. “Too bad this isn’t horseshoes. We would score points for close. Let’s just...let’s just press on the way we have been and hope for a ringer.”

Stupid metaphor but the best she could come up with at the moment. Jack looked as if he wanted to say more but let it go. They sat knee-to-knee in the sunshine and devoured their hot dogs. Or more correctly, Gina devoured hers. Jack had set his on the unwrapped foil to pop the top of his soft drink. He took a long swig and rested the can on his knee while he watched two twentysomethings duking it out at the Ping-Pong table. The crack of their paddles smacking the ball formed a sharp counterpoint to the carousel’s merry tune and the traffic humming along 6th Avenue.

“This is nice,” Jack commented. “I don’t get to just sit and bask in the sun much anymore.”

“Uh-huh.”

He stretched an arm along the back of the bench. “Did you come here often when you were growing up?”

“Yep.”

Her abbreviated responses brought his gaze swinging back to her just in time to catch the covetous looks she was giving his not-yet-consumed weenie. She didn’t bother to plead innocence.

“Are you going to eat that?”

“It’s all yours. Or shall I go get you another one doused with sauerkraut?”

She gave the question serious consideration before shaking her head. “This will do me.”

The remains disappeared in two bites. Semi-satisfied, Gina leaned against the bench and stretched out her legs. His arm formed a comfortable backrest as she replied to his earlier query.

“I couldn’t even hazard a guess how many times I’ve been to Bryant Park. Maria used to bring Sarah and me to ride the merry-go-round or ice-skate on Citi Pond. Grandmama would come, too, after shopping on Fifth Avenue or to wait while we girls hit the library.”

“Your grandmother’s a remarkable woman.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Are she and Sarah the only family you have left?”

“There are some distant cousins in Slovenia. Or maybe it’s Hungary. Or Austria. To tell the truth, I’m not real sure which countries got which parts of Karlenburgh after the duchy was broken up.”

“Has Charlotte ever gone back?”

“No, never. She doesn’t say so, but I know it would be too painful for her.”

“What about you?” He toyed with the ends of her hair, still straight, still purple. “Have you ever visited your ancestral lands?”

“Not yet. I’d like to, though. One of these days...”

She could sit here for hours, she thought lazily. Listening to the crack of the Ping-Pong paddles, watching the tourists nose through the kiosks, nestling her head on the solid heat of Jack’s arm. She didn’t realize her eyelids had fluttered shut until his amused voice drifted down to her.

“You going to sleep on me again?”

“Maybe.”

“Before you zone out completely, let’s set a date for you to make a visit to D.C. My folks are anxious to meet you.”

That woke her up. The little she knew about Jack’s family suggested they probably wouldn’t welcome her with open arms. Not his father, anyway. But she’d promised. Digging into her purse, she checked the calendar on her iPhone.

“I can’t do next weekend. Does the second weekend in June work for you?”

“I’ll make it work. Go back to sleep now.”