Color flushed her skin, reminding him how, only a short time before, she’d flushed with passion. He brushed an imaginary strand of hair from her face, pleased when she shuddered. He wanted her again with a fierceness that shocked him.
“You were smiling,” he said. “Good dream?”
“Mmmm.” Eyes closing, she burrowed her head in the curve of his neck. “The best.”
He wanted her again, more urgently than the first time, if that was even possible. Emma nestled closer, her breath warm on his skin. It was like someone flicked a switch in his body, into the On position. Even the caress of her breathing aroused him.
This was more than dangerous. If he was smart, he’d get up and get out before he dug himself in any deeper.
Only being smart wasn’t what he wanted right now.
He gave his sleeping beauty a little nudge. “Hey, don’t slip too far into dreamland.”
To his surprise, she stiffened and inched off his body. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to….”
Was that disappointment in her eyes? The emotion disappeared too quickly for him to tell. That and the fact that Emma had rolled over, putting her back to him. “Have you seen my sweatshirt?” she asked.
“In the kitchen,” he replied, snaking his arm around her waist. Surely she wasn’t getting dressed? “You don’t need to cover up on my account,” he teased.
“I’m not. I’m cold, that’s all.”
Well, he knew how to remedy that situation. Only to his dismay, Emma was slipping from beneath the covers and covering her gloriously naked body with a chenille throw.
“Where are you going?” he asked, pushing himself into a sitting position.
“To get my robe. It’s on the hook in the bathroom.” She had the throw pulled so tight he wondered how she could breathe.
“Why?”
“I told you, I’m cold.”
“I meant why are you getting up at all?” He was beginning to sound like her, asking why, but he didn’t couldn’t help himself. Since rolling over, she’d yet to look directly at him, which made him a little bit nervous.
“It would be rude to lie in bed while you let yourself out, wouldn’t it?”
“Let myself…?”
“Of course. I didn’t expect you to stay.”
Why not? “I wasn’t planning on—”
“It’s okay. You don’t owe me any explanations.”
He didn’t?
“It’s been a stressful day. You needed a port in a storm and I—I wanted to give you one.”
Finally, she looked at him, though in the dimly lit room he couldn’t tell if her expression matched her casual tone. If only he’d thought to turn on more lights when they’d stumbled in here.
“You were more than a port in a storm, Emma” he said.
“Figure of speech.” She flashed him what looked like a tremulous smile. “I only mean I know how these things work.”
His stomach tensed. What should have given him reassurance for some reason made him more uneasy. “You do?”
“I’m a big girl, Gideon. I knew exactly what I was doing, and the repercussions. So don’t worry, I don’t expect anything. Now, will you give me a minute? I don’t want to walk you to the door naked.”
She closed the bathroom door. A few seconds later, Gideon heard the sound of water running.
He sank back, his skull whacking the headboard. What just happened?
Congratulations, Emma, you handled that pretty darn well.
Eyes burning, she blinked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the face blinking back. Tousled hair, swollen lips. She was looking at the face of a sexually satisfied woman. When it came to lovemaking, Gideon was, as always, a man in command of his environment.
It had been glorious.
Don’t get carried away, she quickly reminded herself. Gideon had been looking for comfort after a stressful day, nothing more. She’d known that when she’d returned his overtures. She wasn’t going to compound the situation by expecting more. Nor would she embarrass herself by clinging. She would handle this with sophistication and maturity. She wouldn’t think about Gideon’s touch or how it made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world. She wouldn’t let her lover’s prowess cloud reality.
Why, then, did her heart feel as if it was ripping in two?
Drying her face, she slipped on her robe, cringing when she saw the coffee stain on the front, then kicked herself for cringing. A little late to worry about impressions now, wasn’t it? She twisted her mussed hair into an even more mussed topknot and opened the door.
Gideon was buttoning his shirt when she walked out. Avoiding his eyes, she crossed the room to her bureau, saying in as casual voice as she could muster, “If you give me a moment, I’ll drive you to the marina.”
“No need.”
“I don’t mind. It’s late. You’ll never catch a cab at this hour.” And there was no way he would spend the night. Making small talk over breakfast would be unbearable.
What did one wear when driving home a one-night stand, anyway? She rummaged through the drawer, angry that it mattered to her. She’d finally settled on a beige sweater when a hand came down on her forearm, halting her search.
Apology lined Gideon’s face. “Don’t.”
Her knees faltered, along with her veil of sophistication. She floundered for footing, desperately thinking of something neutral to say in response. “Feels like it’s getting colder. I wouldn’t be surprised if we have snow flurries. But then that’s New England for you, right? Snow in October.”
He opened his mouth to reply. She cut him off.
“It’s all right, Gideon. I already told you I understood.” And she wasn’t up to rehashing. “You don’t owe me any explanations.” Or apologies. Please, no apologies. “Now let me get dressed so I can take you to your boat.”
“Don’t get dressed,” he said. “I’ll walk. It’s not that far.”
“Oh. Sure.” He wasn’t apologizing, after all; he was just eager to escape her company. How embarrassing. She furiously blinked back the tears springing to her eyes.
Wordlessly, they headed to where the night had begun—her kitchen. His coat lay in a heap on the floor, the sleeve draped over her discarded sweatshirt, an intimate reminder of what had transpired. Emma looked away. The awkwardness in the room was growing exponentially. No wonder Gideon wanted out quickly.
“Can I get you some coffee? For the road,” she added, in case he thought her offer a ploy for him to stay. “I’ve got travel mugs.”
“I think I’ve had enough to drink, coffee and otherwise.”
Yes, she thought, casting a glance at the empty beer bottles, maybe he had.
Too bad she didn’t have the same excuse.
She waited while he shrugged into his jacket, then led him to the front door. To her relief Gideon didn’t try to draw her into conversation. That is, until she touched the door handle. Then he reached out and covered her hand. “I don’t want—”
“Gideon, I’m fine,” she said, determinedly bright. Other than wanting to melt back against him as soon as he touched her, that is. “Tell your grandmother I’ll be by first thing tomorrow morning. If you’d like, I can call first. To make sure I don’t interrupt any tests.” Along with giving them a chance to avoid each other.
An unreadable emotion flickered across Gideon’s face as he brushed a strand of hair from her temple. The tenderness nearly killed her, and she had to brace herself against the door to withstand the impact.
His fingers trailed downward, along her cheekbone, until they curled around her jaw, drawing her forward. Her traitorous body began to hum. It took every ounce of her resolve to turn her head at the last second.
Didn’t matter. He found her lips, anyway. “Good night, Emma,” he whispered.
She mustered a smile. “Goodbye, Gideon.”
“Another arrangement? Good grief, don’t these people have something better to do with their money?”
&nbs
p; Emma wondered the same thing. Mrs. Kent’s hospital room resembled a florist’s shop. Three deliveries arrived during her visit alone. Large, expansive arrangements from Boston’s top florists. They dwarfed the small get-well bouquet she’d purchased at the hospital gift shop, and filled the air with thick fragrance.
She’d so had enough of flowers today.
Before visiting the hospital, she’d stopped by the hotel, where the concierge told her a dozen red roses were waiting. At first she’d thought they were for Mrs. Kent, until she noticed the card addressed to her. Gideon had sent them. Roses, apparently, were the obligatory custom following a one-night stand. She’d left them in the box, hoping out of sight would equal out of mind. But all these flowers were quickly proving that theory wrong. Maybe she should bring Gideon’s bouquet here. Let them blend in with the others.
“They’re from the governor.” She read the card stuck amid the blooms. “He wishes you a speedy recovery.” Gideon’s card had only his name. Could’ve been worse, she realized. He could have added some lame closing, such as “Fondly.”
She looked around the room. “Where would you like me to put it? Space is at a premium.”
“Send the foolish thing to the nurse’s station. As a matter of fact, send all the plants there,” Mrs. Kent replied. “I can’t take the smell.”
Emma couldn’t blame her. All the flowery scents were giving her a headache. “Unfortunately, I doubt this is the last. If you’d like, I can arrange for the flowers to go to other patients. Maybe the geriatric ward?”
“What a wonderful idea. Let them brighten up someone else’s room. Take an arrangement for your desk, too,” Mariah added. “You look like you could use some brightening.”
So much for the concealing powers of makeup. After Gideon left last night, Emma had spent an hour or two curled on the sofa, mentally kicking herself. Then, because she couldn’t bear the idea of sleeping on sheets that bore his scent, she’d spent the rest of the night doing laundry. As a result, she looked like the walking dead, pinched and drawn in her jeans and dark sweater.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just tired after yesterday. You gave everyone quite a scare.”
“So my sons keep reminding me. They’re making a far bigger fuss than necessary, if you ask me.”
Her protest might have carried more weight if she hadn’t attempted to sit straighter while speaking, and gasped in pain.
“They’re concerned about you,” Emma replied. “Do you want the bed raised?”
“What I want is to go home to my own bed,” Mrs. Kent grumbled. At that moment she resembled a petulant child rather than the matriarch of a billion-dollar empire.
To hide her smile, Emma grabbed the plastic water jug next to the bed and topped off her employer’s ice water. “Dr. Crenshaw’s also concerned.”
“Dr. Crenshaw is a middle-aged worrywart.”
“Dear God, this place looks like the inside of a florist’s.”
Gideon’s voice sounded from the doorway, causing Emma to jerk her hand back and send water sloshing over the nightstand. For once she was grateful for her clumsiness, because she could avoid looking up. She grabbed a handful of tissues and tried not to think about the man whose footsteps were entering the room.
To her chagrin, the footsteps rounded the bed and stopped behind her.
“Sorry I startled you,” he murmured. His breath was warm against the back of her neck, reminding her of last night, when that same breath had been hot and steady on her skin. Just like last night, Emma’s insides began to tremble.
“Good morning,” she heard him say to Mariah, followed by a soft noise that sounded like a kiss on the cheek.
“I see you decided to look your best for this visit,” Mrs. Kent said in greeting.
“And I see you’re feeling better. How did this morning’s tests go?”
“Humph, tests. Dr. Crenshaw’s a little too fond of tests. If you ask me, she’s using them as an excuse to run up my bill.”
“Really? I thought you said she was a middle-aged worrywart.” Emma could hear the smile in Gideon’s voice. “Wasn’t that the phrase she used, Miss O’Rourke?”
Emma kept her eyes on the table in front of her. “I believe so, Mr. Kent.”
“Nice to know you two are keeping records of everything I say. I thought you were coming by earlier.”
“I stopped by the hotel to pick up Hinckley before he took over your bedroom.”
“Too late. That three-legged monster made himself quite at home on the first night. On my cashmere throw, no less.”
“That’s Hinckley. Nothing but the best. Right, Miss O’Rourke?”
Why couldn’t he ignore her presence and talk to his grandmother? Reluctantly, she looked up. Please don’t let there be indifference in his eyes, she prayed. That would be worse than the flowers.
She should have prayed for something else. Like her legs not turning to jelly, or for Gideon not to look quite so perfect.
No wonder Mrs. Kent had made a comment about his clothes. He’d reverted back to sailor mode—faded jeans and that ratty Irish-knit sweater—and looked as beautiful and awe-inspiring as ever. Emma’s heart gave a sad little lurch.
“I’ll send the throw out to be dry-cleaned,” she said.
“Never mind.” Mrs. Kent waved away the comment.
“Gideon might as well take it with him, since that creature is so fond of the thing.”
“Ah, but then he won’t want to sleep on it anymore,” Gideon told her. “Where’s the fun in sleeping on something you’re allowed to sleep on?”
Or with, thought Emma bitterly.
“Sorry to interrupt,” a nurse said, knocking on the door, “but it’s time to check Mrs. Kent’s vital signs.” Her eyes swept over Gideon with obvious attraction as she approached the bed. Gideon smiled back, causing Emma’s stomach to knot with jealousy.
Knock it off, she told herself sternly. You don’t have any claim on him.
Meanwhile, the nurse practically beamed, she smiled so brightly. “If you’d like to wait, I promise I won’t take long.”
Seeing her chance to escape, Emma scooped the flowers from Mrs. Kent’s bedside table. “I’m going to take this to the nurse’s station and make those arrangements we talked about.” After which she’d slip into the elevator, and finish visiting later, after Gideon left.
Or not.
Ten steps from the room, she heard Gideon call out, “Emma, wait!”
Her heart urged her to pretend she didn’t hear. Unfortunately, her brain told her that wouldn’t work, so she stopped.
“Apparently the nurse watches All My Loves,” he said, catching up. “At least I hope so. They’re in there discussing who fathered some woman’s baby.”
“The ex-husband,” Emma replied automatically.
“How do you know?”
“It’s always the ex-husband.”
“You’d think I’d know that by now.” Without asking, he took the floral arrangement from her. “So Mariah’s giving flowers to the nurses?”
“Among others.” She told him the plan to deliver flowers to other patients.
“Nice idea. Yours?”
Hating how his compliment made her insides turn mushy, she focused on the flecks embedded in the gray linoleum. “Your grandmother wanted to spread the wealth.”
“Just don’t give away all the flowers that get delivered.”
She paused, then realized what he meant. “The roses.”
“Good, you got them. I was going to send them to your place, but didn’t want them sitting on your doorstep all day.” His mouth quirked. “For some reason I figured I’d have better luck sending them to you at work.”
“They’re lovely,” she replied quietly.
“Not nearly as lovely as the recipient, I assure you.”
Again, her insides melted. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“What, send flowers? I wanted to.”
“I mean the compliments. There’s no
need to let me down easy. I told you last night I didn’t expect anything.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “Most women would.”
“Guess I’m more realistic than most.”
They reached the nurse’s station, where the head nurse was on the phone, updating someone on a patient’s condition. When she saw them approach, she signaled that she’d be another minute.
Gideon set the flowers on the counter. “Do you really think I’m trying to let you down easy?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Funny, I thought I was showing my admiration.”
The nurse on the phone signaled that she’d be a few more moments. Emma busied herself with the arrangement, repositioning chrysanthemums.
Gideon’s voice came from behind her shoulder. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, it follows this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought we could have dinner on my boat,” he replied.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
She adjusted another stem. From the corner of her eye, she saw the nurse wrapping up her phone conversation. Or so Emma hoped. She needed the interruption. Gideon’s question gave birth to an optimism she didn’t want to feel. He was only inviting her out of guilt, trying to make amends for last night. Like with the roses.
“I have to make arrangements for the flowers,” she said.
“You haven’t accepted my invitation yet.” He lowered his head towards her. To the nurses at the station, it would look as if he was merely speaking confidentially. Except that he used the same maddening lover’s voice he’d used in her bed. The one that coaxed her to do whatever he wanted. “You know you want to.”
Heaven help her, but she did. She wanted another night with his hands on her skin and his voice murmuring lover’s words in her ear. What good would it do, though, except to pull her back into the orbit of a man she was better off forgetting?
Gideon’s fingers curled around her shoulders. “I’m waiting.”
The Cinderella Bride Page 11
