It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t she been saying pretty much the same thing to Hinckley this morning? At least now she knew when her ship would sail: in a couple days.
A couple more days, then back to reality.
Reality came sooner than she thought. It arrived about eight hours later, when her mother turned up at her apartment in tears over her latest heartbreak.
“Tony and I had a connection, you know?” she said between sniffles. “We had a bond.”
“I know, Mom.” There was always a connection.
Janet had wedged herself into the corner of Emma’s couch. Her knees were pulled tight to her chest, and she was taking shaky drags on a cigarette. An ashtray filled with cigarette remains rested by the sofa arm. Mascara streaked her cheeks. It was the only makeup she still had on, the rest having been cried or worn off.
“He was so nice,” she continued, before pausing for another puff. “Did I mention he had a boat? And a house on the Vineyard? We talked about me visiting, for cripe’s sake.”
She ground the butt in the ashtray, grabbed her pack and lit another. “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing, Mom.” You just read too much into the conversation. As usual. “He’s a jerk, that’s all.”
“But I really, really liked him.”
She always did. And as she got older, she fell faster and harder, the endings more bitter and dramatic.
“It’s not fair,” Janet said. “Why do they always dump me?”
Emma’s stomach churned as she handed her mother a fresh tissue. They’d been through the breakup regime dozens of times. No sense suggesting her mother caused her own misery, since she wouldn’t listen. Besides, this time Emma actually had a little sympathy for Janet’s woe-is-me sobs.
After all, she was heading for same scenario.
Nothing to keep me here. She shook off Gideon’s words. Now wasn’t the time. Her mother would cry her eyes out for at least another couple hours, before falling asleep on the sofa. There would be plenty of time for a pity party then.
As she listened to Janet ramble on about heartache and the inequities of life, Emma wondered how many times the universe would have to crush her mother’s romantic dreams before she got the message. Janet’s meltdown was just one more reminder that her own affair with Gideon was a one-way cruise to nowhere. She refused to be like the woman in front of her, crying over a love affair that existed only in her mind.
Time to abandon ship.
It was two hours later when she arrived at the marina. When she’d called to cancel their date earlier, Gideon had told her he would welcome her no matter what time she arrived, but now she wondered if she should have waited until morning. The boat looked dark.
Drawing closer, however, she saw a light in the front berth. Gideon was in bed. She pictured him propped against the cushions, his chest bare and muscular in the dim light.
Maybe one more night…
No, no more nights. That’s how she’d gotten into this mess in the first place. One night would stretch to two and then three, and before she knew it, Gideon would set sail along with whatever chance she had of keeping her dignity intact. No waiting until morning, either. Because come morning, she’d only find another reason to stall. Either she ended things now or she ended them never.
Squaring her shoulders, she stepped aboard and knocked on the hatchway door. Gideon answered within moments. “Emma!” he said in surprise, before his expression softened in what seemed to be genuine pleasure.
He looked exactly as she’d pictured, shirtless and sexy as could be. Emma’s heart immediately lodged in her throat. This would be harder than she’d thought.
“Can I come aboard?” she asked.
“Of course. Why didn’t you call? I would have picked you up. You shouldn’t be wandering around alone this time of night.”
“I didn’t want to be a bother.”
He rolled his eyes. “What will I do with you? Come on,” he said, extending a hand, “get inside before you let the cold air out. Is everything all right? You sounded off when you called.”
“My mother had a temporary crisis. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
“You sure? You look tired.”
Gentle concern marked his expression. Emma tried desperately not to fall under its spell. Too much tenderness would make her task impossible. “Dealing with my mother can be draining.”
“Obviously. Let me get you something to drink.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Will you stop being a martyr?” He gave her shoulders a gentle kneading. “I know I don’t have to anything,” he whispered. The huskiness in his voice went straight to her insides.
Please stop being so wonderful, she begged silently.
He disappeared into the galley, leaving her alone. The respite helped her regain her bearings, and she took a long last look at her surroundings. Of all the wonderfully luxurious locations she’d seen since meeting Gideon, the boat would always be her favorite. The jet was incredible, the Landmark was luxurious, the restaurant beyond words, but this space felt…real. Her eyes began to burn.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Why did his voice always manage to send tingles down her spine? “I was thinking about the first time I came on board,” she said, blinking her eyes quickly.
“A rain-soaked Little Match Girl.” His chest was a breath away from her spine. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “I’m glad you didn’t freeze to death that day.”
“Me, too.” She looked down at the mug Gideon had placed in her hands. “Tea?” she noted with surprise.
“I grabbed a box while stocking supplies. Figured you might appreciate having some on board. That is your blend, no?”
“Yes.” Her eyes began blurring again. Why was he making this so hard? “Thank you.”
If Gideon noticed her strangled tone of voice, he didn’t comment. He was too busy nuzzling her neck. “I told you, mon bateau est votre bateau. Besides, it’s all part of my master plan.”
“Master plan?” She was trying not to arch her neck in response to his kisses, and failing miserably.
“I figure if I stock the boat with your favorite foods, your practical nature will force you to visit me in Saint Martin. Because I know you don’t like to waste food.”
He trailed kisses up her neck, his tongue flicking the skin under her jaw. Emma squeezed her eyes tight, willing herself not to melt. “I’m not visiting you in Saint Martin.” She managed to grind out the words.
“So you say now. I haven’t finished implementing the plan yet. Food is only part of the strategy. Care to guess the other part?” he asked as he nipped her earlobe.
“Not really.”
Somehow she summoned the strength she needed to break their embrace and move to the other side of the cabin. As distance went, it wasn’t much, but it was enough to clear her head. A little.
She could feel Gideon frowning at her back. “What’s wrong? I thought you said everything went okay with your mother.”
“It did.”
“Then why are you so tense? Did something else happen?”
A whole lot had happened, beginning with her waking up. “I’m not going to Saint Martin,” she repeated.
“Why not? We both know you’d have a terrific time. You, me, the tropical breezes…”
He closed the distance between them in three short steps, causing Emma to curse the narrowness of sea vessels. If she’d been smart, she’d have insisted on staying outside to talk.
“There’s so many things I want to show you,” he continued in that lover’s voice she’d come to adore. “Places you wouldn’t believe exist.”
As he spoke, he traced a path with his index finger down the side of her neck and along the curve of her shoulder. Her sweater did nothing to stop the heat of his touch from reaching her skin. “Beautiful, tropical hideaways where no one can find us. What do you say, Emma. Will you let me show you?”
It sounded heavenly. Beyond her wildest dreams. She sighed. Then, just as she felt her defenses begin to crumble, an image of her mother sobbing popped into her head, renewing her resolve.
“Like you showed me New York?” she asked, breaking away. “Another treat for the poor travel-deprived secretary?”
Gideon’s evasive expression told her she’d hit upon some truth. Sensing her opportunity, she continued. “That’s what this has been all about, hasn’t it? Expanding the poor Little Match Girl’s world? Giving her some fantastical memories?”
“Since when is it a crime to treat a woman like a princess?” he asked.
Except she wasn’t a princes, she was a secretary. “It’s not a crime,” she replied. “Just very seductive.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
He reached for her, but she sidestepped in time. “Yes, it is. Because eventually the experiences have to end, and the pretend princess has to go back to her life. Don’t worry, though, I knew exactly what I was getting into when we started this little fling.”
A shadow crossed his features, making his expression impossible to read. “Is that what you think we’re doing? Having a fling?”
“What else would you call it? You don’t do relationships, remember?”
Saying the words out loud hurt more than she expected. Needing a moment to collect herself, she gulped down her tea. The hot liquid burned her throat, but she didn’t care. It made her temporarily forget the pain in her chest.
Gideon, of course, said nothing, which spoke volumes.
“Like I said, don’t worry,” she repeated, as much to reassure herself as to reassure him. “I’m a big girl. I never harbored expectations that what we were doing would lead to anything more.”
“You didn’t.” He sounded as if he didn’t believe her. She supposed because he was used to the opposite.
“I learned a long time ago that life isn’t a fairy tale, Gideon. Happy endings are few and far between. And I’ve seen more times than I can count what happens when you base your future on false hope.” She forced a tremulous smile. “Better to live in reality then nurse a fantasy. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He didn’t answer. Trying to think of an appropriate response, no doubt. What, she wondered, did someone say in a situation such as this, other than goodbye? Surely nothing that would make the ending any easier.
And so when Gideon finally did open his mouth to speak, she pressed her fingers to his lips. “Don’t. Let’s not belabor what we both know is the truth. Why don’t we both walk away while we’re still friends, happy with the fun we had together?”
He didn’t answer. She didn’t let him. That didn’t stop disappointment from hitting her hard. In spite of everything, part of her wanted him to argue the point, even though they both knew there was no point in doing so. Proof she was right to end things between them.
It was time to go. Her teacup was empty. Setting the mug down, she gave Gideon one last smile, backing away when he reached for her. She wanted nothing more than to taste one last kiss, but she knew doing so would hurt far too much. “I want you to know that this…us—” she waved her hand between them “—was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever felt… Never mind.” She had been about to say special, but the word sounded trite. “Goodbye, Gideon.”
He stared, shocked. “You’re leaving?”
“We’d both be better off if I did, don’t you think?” She grabbed the railing. “Have a safe journey home, Gideon.”
Before he could utter another word, she bolted up the stairs.
CHAPTER TEN
TOO STUNNED TO SAY A WORD, Gideon watched as Emma raced away. It wasn’t until he heard the footsteps above him that he realized what had happened, and sprang into action. “Emma, wait!”
He bounded up on deck. “Emma!” he bellowed. Nearby a cormorant grunted in protest, the only noise besides Emma’s rapid footfalls.
Ignoring the cold on his bare feet and torso, he started after her, calling her name yet again. She didn’t stop. In fact, when he hollered, she picked up her pace, going from a brisk walk to a jog to finally an all-out run. He followed her as far as the sidewalk, in time to see her jump into her car and peel off.
What the hell? Confusion swirled in his muzzy brain. It didn’t make sense. They had a good time together. Check that, they had an amazing time together. Making love was a near religious experience, at least for him. No, for both of them. She was enjoying their time together as much as he was. So why cut and run when they still had several days left to enjoy each others’ company?
“Hey, be grateful,” he said to himself. “She’s right, you don’t do relationships.” He’d been dreading saying goodbye, anyway. That was half the reason he’d invited her to Saint Martin, right? To postpone the unpleasantness. Now he didn’t have to feel bad. Emma had done him a favor. He should be relieved. He could move on with a clean conscience.
Slowly, he walked back to the boat, waiting for the relief to wash over him.
It didn’t come.
A week later, Gideon stomped into his cabin, feeling cold and miserable. Hinckley opened an irritated eye as he barged past on his way to the galley and the coffeepot. Which, he soon discovered, had about an inch of coffee left in it.
“Damn!” He slammed the pot on the burner, sending a metallic rattle reverberating through the boat. He was going to have to make a fresh pot, and the blasted canister was empty. What idiot had decided living on the water was a good idea, anyway? His hands were so numb he could barely feel them. How hadn’t he noticed how cold Boston Harbor was before?
Blowing on his fingers, trying to jump-start some kind of circulation, he scanned the supplies, looking for a spare can of coffee. If he had to make instant, he would not be responsible for the damage. As he reviewed the various cans, his eyes fell on a bright red box. A sinking sensation hit him in the gut. Tea. Emma’s tea.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall. It had been seven days since she’d pronounced them over and had taken off. Seven long days. He’d tried to reach her. She conveniently managed to be absent whenever he arrived at the Fairlane, and she wouldn’t take his calls. He’d left messages at work, on her cell phone. In fact, he’d left so many messages he was starting to feel like a stalker.
This desperation wasn’t like him. He didn’t chase women. But Emma… He couldn’t get her out of his head. No woman had ever gotten under his skin the way she had. He thought about her when he ate, when he showered, when he worked on the boat. The worst was at night, when he lay alone in his bed with nothing but thoughts of Emma to lie with him.
The simple truth was he missed her. Missed making her smile. Missed hearing her gentle breathing as she slept. Missed the fullness that swelled in his chest when she looked in his direction.
Conversely, the past week had brought him closer to his family than he’d been in years. Since their awkward conversation the other day, he and his father had forged some new bonds. Tentative ones, but he had hope they would grow strong. For the first time in his life, both of them were talking—really talking—and more importantly, listening. They discovered they shared a lot of traits, such as pride and stubbornness, and Gideon was starting to wonder if maybe DNA didn’t matter, after all. He was even reconsidering Mariah’s offer to take over Kent Hotels.
A decision he’d love to discuss with Emma.
His back pocket buzzed, telling him he had a call. The Fairlane, according to the call screen. When he saw the number, his pulse quickened. Maybe his stalking had finally paid off.
It hadn’t. Mariah’s voice greeted him from the other end. “Good morning to you, too,” she said.
“Sorry, Grandmother.” He tried to push the disappointment from his voice. “I was hop— I thought you were someone else.”
“I’ll forgive you, since you called me Grandmother.”
He smiled to himself. “What can I do for you, Grandmother?”
“You can come to tea,” she replied. “I want you to
look at some concepts the advertising agency sent over.”
“Isn’t that Andrew’s concern?”
“I want you to see them.”
Gideon shook his head. He wondered if, in his grandmother’s mind, he’d ever turned down her offer. “All right,” he replied, “I’ll be there. What time?”
“One o’clock.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” Emma, too, he realized with a thrill. That is, if she didn’t hide again.
Suddenly, an idea hit him. “Grandmother,” he said, “will you do me a favor?”
“Make sure those letters go out in today’s mail,” Mrs. Kent said. “Tell Marketing and Legal I don’t want them bickering about the words, either.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Emma answered, not entirely certain what she was answering “yes” to. Since breaking things off with Gideon, she’d been on autopilot. Her perpetual fog showed, too. She made stupid mistakes. Yesterday, she’d even sent a phone call through to Mrs. Kent during All My Loves.
Speaking of Mrs. Kent, her boss’s pale blue eyes were impossibly intent as they studied Emma. “Is your headache any better today?” she asked in concern.
“A little,” Emma replied. A migraine was the excuse she’d given for yesterday’s mistake. It wasn’t too much of a lie. She did have a headache.
“Hmmm, maybe you should see someone.” Mrs. Kent was frowning now.
“I’ll be fine.” There was only one person she wanted to see, and he was off-limits. “I should be feeling better soon.”
After all, it had been seven days, for crying out loud. Her mother bounced back in two. Emma should be over Gideon by now. Instead, he dominated her every thought. Every time she heard him on her voice mail, it was like a knife in her midsection. She was beginning to wonder if she’d ever stop thinking of him.
Mrs. Kent had a few more housekeeping items for review, so Emma forced herself back to the present as best she could. Still, she only half listened. Hopefully, her automatic notes would fill in the blanks. When her meeting was over she walked robotically back to her desk. If she was lucky, work would distract her for a few hours at least.
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