by Nell Dixon
“He has to be up to something.” Jerome scowled.
“Well, we have until next weekend to find out what it is.”
“Thanks, Gemma.” He paused in his pacing.
She fumbled behind her for the door handle to escape back to her own room. “That’s okay. I thought you should know.”
He walked over and reached behind her to open the door. His bare chest grazed the front of her robe and she gave an involuntary gasp at the contact. Jerome’s eyes darkened with desire and before she knew it his mouth had closed in on hers.
Her body responded as each nerve snapped to attention. She wrapped her arms around him. Her fingers explored the damp curls of his hair in the nape of his neck while her tongue tasted the hot maleness of his lips.
He groaned her name against her mouth and her pulse speeded up. “Gemma, if you don’t want to take this any further then you’re going to have to leave.”
Dazed, she opened her eyes to see her need for him reflected in his expression. She wriggled free and found the door slightly ajar.
“I should go.” She slipped into the corridor, glad of the opportunity to flee back to her own room before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
So much for the new bold, brave Gemma. She had to face the truth. She was still the same Gemma she’d always been. The problem was, Jerome was still the same too. He’d never pretended to be anything any different. She was the one who’d tried to kid him that she’d changed. Not that he’d been fooled, as she recalled.
* * * *
The buzz of the bedside phone cut into her sleep.
“Rise and shine. Breakfast in thirty minutes.” Jerome’s deep voice sounded in her ear, obliterating the dream she’d been enjoying which had featured him all too prominently.
“I’ll meet you downstairs.” She replaced the receiver and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
He was at the bottom of the carved oak stairs as she walked down to meet him. Warmth spread through her body from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair as she remembered the events of the previous night.
“Did you sleep all right?”
She glanced at him to see if there was a hidden implication in his question but his face looked innocent as he waited for her to reply.
“Fine, thanks.”
She followed him through doors set with Art Deco stained glass into a large airy dining room.
The maître d’ greeted Jerome like an old friend. He showed them to a table next to one of the large picture windows affording a superb view of the lake.
Gemma took her seat opposite Jerome as a smiling waitress brought over a silver pot of tea and a folded copy of the morning paper.
“Are you looking forward to returning to civilization? Back to the wedding dresses and anxious brides?” Jerome picked up the teapot and poured them both a cup of tea.
“I enjoy my job, but apart from being shot at and having my tent sabotaged, I’ve enjoyed this weekend, too. I’d forgotten how much I liked being outdoors. Seeing the animals so close up was fantastic.”
The corner of his mouth tilted as he added milk to the cups. “It’s been exciting, all right.”
The waitress returned to take their breakfast order. When she’d gone back to the kitchen Gemma resumed the conversation while she stirred her tea.
“Have you had any more thoughts about the debate?”
Jerome shook his head. “When I get home I’ll do some digging. Will you come with me to the debate?”
The teaspoon slipped through her fingers to clatter off the saucer and on to the tablecloth. “Um, I don’t know. I mean, Nathalie might not be able to spare me for another weekend so quickly.”
She longed to say yes, but her feelings for him were in such a whirl, she didn’t know if she could spend more time with him without getting her feelings hurt even more than they were already. Not to mention that she felt as if she were leading him on by trying to be someone she really wasn’t.
The waitress returned with two steaming bowls of porridge. Jerome thanked her and picked up his spoon to sprinkle sugar on to the creamy crust.
“Jerome Mayer!”
Gemma looked up to see who had disturbed their breakfast. A pretty brunette clutching a notepad and pen stood next to the table.
“I’m Kay Langford, I write for the Lake and Fell Gazette. I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I wondered if I could ask you a few questions about the upcoming debate with Mr. Shakespeare?”
Jerome extended his hand to the reporter. Gemma prodded at her porridge as the girl pulled a chair up to the table to join them.
“Can we get you some tea?” Gemma asked as the girl unwound her fluffy scarf from around her neck.
“Oh, no, I really won’t take up too much of your time.”
Gemma returned to her breakfast as Jerome exchanged pleasantries with the reporter.
“I’ve heard you and Mr. Shakespeare will be having a live debate regarding the future of the land at Maggie’s Fell on Saturday?” the girl asked.
“That’s correct.” Jerome took a spoon of porridge.
“I wonder if you could tell our readers the main points behind your opposition to Mr. Shakespeare’s plans.”
“I believe most of them are fairly well-known. Mr. Shakespeare’s history with the kind of project he’s proposing for Maggie’s Fell is a matter of public record.”
Gemma wanted to cheer. Jerome was a master at interviews and the reporter seemed to be taken with him. Okay, so that part she wasn’t so comfortable with. In fact, she was downright jealous.
“But Mr. Shakespeare does have a record for bringing jobs to an area, doesn’t he? I believe the Blue House project in Scotland brought nearly two hundred jobs to a very deprived area.” The reporter’s pen was poised over her pad.
“Most of the jobs went to outside migrant workers and were temporary. Only thirty jobs were permanent. The damage to the landscape and the wildlife was irreparable.” Jerome finished his breakfast and pushed his empty dish away.
“So you believe Mr. Shakespeare’s pledges to protect the environment around the sensitive area’s of the Fell are false?”
“I think we have yet to see the fine detail of his plans.”
The reporter jotted Jerome's answer in her notebook and stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Mayer. I look forward to the debate.”
Gemma watched as Jerome rose and shook hands once more with the girl. Jealousy stabbing her ribs like a knife as the reporter blushed and giggled at something Jerome murmured in her ear.
The girl left and Jerome sat back down.
“Did you want anything else to eat or shall we get on our way?” Gemma crumpled her napkin on to the table.
Jerome picked up the teapot and poured himself another cup. “Are you in a hurry?”
“No, not at all.” She forced herself to sound unconcerned.
“Good, because there’s somewhere I need to go on the way home.”
Chapter Nine
“And you don’t know where Jerome went?” Nathalie straightened up from where she had been leaning on the shop counter while she listened to Gemma’s story.
“No, we parked up in the town center and he left me to browse around the shops. He was gone for about three-quarters of an hour.” Gemma frowned.
Nathalie sighed as she moved around the counter to give Gemma a hug. “It sounds like you certainly had an exciting time. Typical Jerome, in fact.”
“I’m worried about this debate. It’s not that I don’t have any faith in Jerome, but this Gerald Shakespeare is really slimy.”
Nathalie walked away and rearranged the folds of an ivory silk bridal gown displayed on a podium in the center of the shop. “I know what you mean, but in a way I’m more worried about J winning rather than losing. I mean, if this Shakespeare man was behind the shooting and the damage to the camping stuff, as you suspect, it doesn’t sound like he’d be a good loser. I dread to think of how he’d vent his feelings.”
Th
e same thought had already occurred to Gemma. Jerome had dropped her off at home the previous afternoon and since then she’d heard nothing from him. Although, to be fair, he hadn’t said he’d call her or asked to see her again. When he’d returned to the car after his mystery errand, he hadn’t spoken much at all on the journey home. In a way that had been a relief as it had given her chance to think through some of her feelings for him.
“Do you want to take some time off at the weekend to go with him to the debate?” Nathalie looked up from where she sat on the floor, artistically draping the hem of the gown over a satin slipper.
Gemma shrugged and adjusted one of the necklaces on the display. “I don’t know.”
Nathalie’s busy fingers stilled. “Did something happen between you two?” she asked, an anxious frown on her pretty face.
“Yes and no. I think I’m just a bit confused at the moment.” Gemma squinted at the display and moved one of the micro spotlights so the diamante droppers of the jewelry sparkled more obviously.
“Confused? In what way?”
“I don’t know. I really like Jerome, and I thought after what happened with Carl that just having some fun would be good for me, you know?”
“But now you want something more?” Nathalie’s forehead creased in concern.
“Maybe.” Gemma nibbled her lower lip as she thought over the question that had troubled her all the previous night.
Nathalie eased herself up from the floor in one fluid movement. “Gemma, you know Jerome and I fight all the time, but I do know he likes you a lot. He seemed different when he spoke about you than about other women he’s dated.”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you like me to talk to him?” Nathalie offered.
Gemma folded her arms and wandered over to stare out of the shop window at the rain trickling slowly down the glass. “That’s kind of you, Tali, but I think I need to work this out for myself.”
Nathalie joined her. “I know. I just feel as if I should be doing something to help you.”
The arrival of customers into the shop put an end to the conversation. Gemma thought over what Nathalie had said as she helped a woman find a tiara and veil to match her dress.
Maybe she should take the time off this weekend. After all, Jerome had asked her to go to the debate with him. But how would she ever know if they could build a relationship of any kind if she kept blowing hot and cold? She should learn a lesson from her disastrous break-up with Carl and try harder for what she wanted.
No one else had ever made her feel the way she did when she was with Jerome - not even Carl, and she had been convinced she’d been ready to marry him.
She wrapped her customer’s tiara carefully in tissue paper and placed it in a box. As she rang up the sale, she made polite conversation with her customer, but the whole time her mind kept running over what she should do about Jerome. She said goodbye to the customer and cleared away the boxes she had pulled out.
“You could just give him a call.” Nathalie’s customer had gone into the fitting room.
Gemma frowned at her friend. “And say what, exactly?”
“I don’t know. Say you’ll go to the debate with him or ask him round for supper. You’ll think of something.” Nathalie disappeared back to the fitting room to assist her customer.
Gemma looked at the sleek black phone next to the till. Before she could change her mind she flipped open Nathalie’s index book and dialed Jerome’s number.
“Mayer,” he answered in an authoritative voice.
Gemma swallowed. “Um, it’s me. Gemma.” She was relieved he couldn’t see her face. Her cheeks felt like two glowing balls of fire.
“Gemma! Is everything all right?”
“Fine, fine. You?” She cringed as she spoke. How lame and feeble did she sound?
“Yeah, just working on the photos we took at the lakes.”
“Great.”
Silence hummed between them as Gemma tried to think of what she wanted to say.
“So, Can I change your mind and persuade you to come to the debate with me?” The deep sexy timbre of his voice sent a shiver along her spine.
“Maybe.” Darn, why hadn’t she just said yes? She’d intended to - it was why she’d rung him, for heaven’s sake. What had happened to the girl who’d confidently volunteered to go camping with him?
“Have dinner with me tonight and I’ll try to convince you.” His voice dipped lower and her knees felt weak.
“Okay.” There, she’d done it.
“I’ll call for you at seven.”
“See you later.” Her voice came out as a squeak and she heard the rumble of his laughter in her ear as he hung up.
* * * *
Gemma changed her outfit three times before her doorbell told her Jerome had arrived. She took a last nervous look at her reflection and hurried downstairs.
Jerome let out a low whistle of admiration when she opened the front door and her face heated.
“You look fantastic.” His eyes gleamed in the light from her hall as she stepped aside to allow him inside.
“Thank you. I’ll get my coat.” She resisted the urge to smooth the skirt of her little black dress as she snagged her jacket from its hook. “I wasn’t sure where we were going, so I didn’t know what to wear.”
Jerome leaned a shoulder against the lounge doorframe, watching her as she fussed with the collar on her coat. “I’m keeping a low profile at the moment. The news about the debate seems to have stirred up quite the media frenzy. I guess it must be a quiet week or something news-wise. So I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I’d cook for us at my cottage instead of going out.”
Gemma’s fingers stilled on the bottom button of her jacket. “That sounds lovely. But, you can cook, right?”
Jerome grinned at her as she realized how rude her comment had sounded.
“I can cook,” he assured her.
She locked her front door behind her, glad of the cool night air on her warm face. The rain from earlier in the day had finally stopped, leaving a damp autumnal evening with the hint of frost in the air.
To her surprise, Jerome hadn’t brought his own car.
“I borrowed this from Barnaby, since my car is a bit distinctive,” he explained as they pulled away.
“Have you been having lots of problems?” It was uncharacteristic of Jerome to be concerned about the press. Her instincts told her there had been more things going on than Jerome was prepared to admit.
“A bit more hate mail and a dead chicken on my doorstep this morning.” He avoided her gaze as he took the road leading out of the town.
“A dead what?” She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Yep. A chicken. With its throat cut and a note attached. Probably more of Gerald’s moronic henchmen’s work.”
Gemma groped around for an appropriate response. “Did you go to the police? Jerome, this is frightening stuff!” She couldn’t believe he sounded so matter-of-fact about something so serious.
“Don’t worry, I did. They came quite quickly.”
In the distance a pinkish glow illuminated a strand of trees in the night sky. “What’s that?” Gemma leaned forward in her seat to peer through the windscreen.
Jerome swore, hitting the accelerator hard, and Gemma was thrown back into her seat.
Within seconds they pulled to a halt next to a large red fire engine and a police car. Jerome left the driver’s door open in his haste to see what had happened. The acrid stench of smoke hung heavy in the air while the noise of the fire and the emergency radios crackled all around them.
Gemma undid her seatbelt, tangling it in her hurry to join Jerome. She gasped in horror when she realized why the fire engine was there. Jerome’s cottage was well ablaze as the firemen struggled to control the flames with the water hose.
“What happened?” Gemma caught up with Jerome as he stood talking to the police.
“Keep back, miss.” The policeman held out his arm to prevent th
em from getting closer to the house.
“My studio!” Jerome’s hands balled into fists at his sides.
“The roof’s about to go!” A warning shout went up among the firefighters as an almighty crack filled the air.
Gemma’s hand flew to her mouth in horror as the flames licked greedily through the pan tiles. A few seconds later the ridge of the roof gave way, leaving room for the fire to burn through the hole and up into the night sky.
“It’s a good thing you weren’t at home, sir.” The policeman shook his head.
“Who called for the fire engines?” Gemma asked. She couldn’t see any neighboring properties that could have alerted them.
“An anonymous call was received at headquarters at nineteen ten hours, miss.”
“Just after I left to pick you up,” Jerome said to her.
“Have you lost everything?” Her heart swelled at the bleakness etched across his face.
“Looks that way.”
Gemma slipped her arms around his waist and held him close as he buried his face in her hair. She felt helpless, but stroked his back as he recovered some of his composure.
There was nothing to be gained by staying, so after leaving his details with the fire chief and the police, they returned to the car.
“What are you going to do? You need to call your insurers and let your family know you’re okay. This will be bound to make the press.” Gemma couldn’t even begin to imagine how it must feel to see your home and everything you possessed go up in flames. “You’re welcome to stay with me.”
Jerome’s shoulders sagged low and he had an air of defeat which didn’t sit well on him. Gemma reached out to squeeze his hand in reassurance.
“Come on, let’s go back to my house. We should leave anyway. The news reporters will be here in a minute and you know what they’re like.”
“Okay.” He gave her a grim smile and started the engine.
Further along the road they passed several unmarked cars all headed towards the cottage.
