She said nothing, but her breathing turned ragged.
His fingers tore at the flimsy fabric. They ripped easily away from her body. He patted her skirt back into place, kissing the side of her neck, one hand working her nipple while the other slipped into the soft folds between her legs.
She mewled and fell back against him.
“You’re ready for the ice now,” he whispered. “If I let go, can you keep your balance?”
She nodded and tottered away toward the kitchen.
He followed, watching her every movement. While she held the glass against the icemaker, he unzipped her skirt and eased it off her body. “I’ll take that,” he said, setting down the glass on the counter. He placed the sink stopper in the drain, turned on the water, and let it run, adding soap as the water climbed. He placed her hand in the sudsy water. “How’s the temperature?”
“Lovely.” She smiled, her eyes heavy with anticipation.
He picked her up by the waist and eased her into the waiting water, his mouth closing around a breast. “I will eat you until you cry for mercy,” he promised, moving greedily from one eager nipple to the other. His hands worked beneath her, washing away the remains of their earlier lovemaking, relishing the feel of this softest part of her body.
He lifted her out of the sink, announcing, “Time for a rinse.” He drained the sink and refilled it with clear, warm water. Once again, he lifted her into the warm water, his fingers exploring every part of her while his mouth captured her tongue. When he’d rinsed her, he reached over, popped a partially melted ice cube into his mouth and slid it languidly over her nipples, down her belly and let it drop into the warm water, reveling in the way her body thrilled to his every touch.
He spread her legs until her high heels rested on either side of the sink, exposing her sex. His shaft pulsed and he bent and guzzled her with the flat of his chilled tongue, lapping and sucking until she screamed her pleasure. But he didn’t stop, he merely paused, unable to get enough of her heady scent. He swirled his tongue and bit softly, tasting and creating a kind of suction that, judging by her shrieks and the shudders of her body, was more than satisfactory.
In that moment, he made a silent vow to give her everythingthis woman who believed in him, despite his recklessness. Despite the fact that he didn’t deserve her. Despite the fact that he never would.
****
The next morning, instead of Gavin, Jill found a note on the pillow.
Jillian,
You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t have the heart to wake you. I’m off to Chicago today but tomorrow is Thanksgiving. In the morning, I’ll pick you up for dinner with the family.
Love, G.
PS: You’re beautiful when you sleep.
Jill eased herself out of bed, grateful for her Jacuzzi. Her body felt replete and desperate for a hot soak.
****
Heading the weekly faculty and staff meeting agenda were the words, “Wilson Annual Fundraiser Gala, February 14, Valentine’s Day”. Her mind wandered to thoughts of Gavin, unaware that she’d emitted several sighs. Board president, John Roberts, glanced her way and frowned. She forced her attention back to the subject at hand.
“As you know, our annual fundraising event is critical to salaries, contract renewal, and other budget items.” John paused to give them all a meaningful look. “That's why we always make such a point of asking for the involvement of each of you. So it behooves me to call your attention to the date. This year, we’re holding the fundraiser on Valentine’s Day, and the theme is to be a rather,” he cleared his throat, “romantic one, I believe. I’m sure you’ll all clear your calendars to ensure your attendance and to support this very important cause.” He stopped to clear this throat again.
“As I was saying, I sent an email last week announcing that Edith Fairfield, grandmother of one of our students, volunteered to chair the event and contribute her considerable talents and social connections. Since then, she’s confirmed her son, the Maestro Fairfield, has agreed to be our entertainment headliner. With high profile entertainment like this, donations and silent auction bidding should be greatly improved over previous years. But as they say, it’s not over until it’s over and so I want to remind each of you to volunteer. With your help, I’m confident this year’s fundraising gala will be everything it can be. Mark February 14th on your calendar if you haven’t already. This year’s theme is ‘give with your heart’.”
He cleared his throat and looked at Jill. “Mrs. Fairfield informs me while a great deal of the foundation for the gala has been laid, if we’re to be ready in time, she needs a co-chair”
Ross interrupted, tapping his watch. “John, we’re running a little long on time. Let me wrap this up by underscoring John’s comments. We need volunteers so don’t hesitate to drop by or send me an email.” He then looked at Jill. “Got a minute?”
Jill repressed a sigh of frustration as she glanced at her watch. “Sure, but I was on my way out the door. I’m off to the spa for a little relaxation and girl time. Will this discussion be quick?”
“My office. I'll be there in a moment.”
When Ross joined her a full ten minutes later, his somewhat disheveled appearance told her he'd had a devil of a time, whatever he’d been doing.
“Sorry, about the delay. Roberts caught me and you know how that can go.” He grinned. “I wanted to talk to you about the gala. Mrs. Fairfield has what promises to be a fantastic idea and she wants you—”
“Whoa. Stop right there.” She raised her hand. “You’ve got to be joking. Our clinical trial is taking up almost all of my time right now. I can’t possibly get involved in planning the gala.”
He tipped back in his chair and sighed. “Work it out, Jill because I’ve already committed you.”
“I’ve been chair two of the last five years. I’ve done my time, and you know how much is riding on our trial. Tell me why this is falling on me.”
“Because Mrs. Fairfield wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
****
Gage turned on the ignition. “You cut it a little close, but we can still make it. Since I was in charge of making the arrangements, I thought trying out that new health spa would be fun—you know, Zenful Springs. They’re having their grand opening. A colleague of mine went earlier this week and she couldn’t stop raving about the place.”
Jill closed her eyes. “You’re in charge. As long as there’s wine and pasta afterward, you can take me just about anywhere.”
Gage’s voice warmed. “That’s one of the best parts. They give you complimentary champagne while you soak your toes.”
Jill locked her seatbelt into place, leaned back, and stretched. “Perfect.”
Inside Zenful Springs, the air held a hint of sandalwood, lavender, and something earthier, like bark. Wind chimes and chanting monks played in the background. The staff talked in hushed tones—their movements languid, their voices dusky and reverent. A large fountain bubbled in the center of the room. Jill couldn’t resist dipping her fingers into the cool water as she passed.
One of the staff members greeted them. “Have you been here before, ladies?”
“No,” they murmured, already subdued into a near-trancelike state.
“Well then, as part of our grand opening, welcome.” She handed each of them thick white terrycloth robes the color of fresh snow, edged with a green border. The robes had been pre-warmed.
Jill pressed the robe to her cheek and drew a deep breath, pulling warmth into her lungs. The staff member smiled as if she were guarding an important secret.
“This is just the beginning, ladies. I’ll take you back. Terri and Merri are your estheticians. Many services are specially priced this week. Don’t hesitate if you see something you’d like to try.”
She led them through a door and introduced them to Terri and Merri, both of whom wore you’re-going-to-love-this smiles that suggested they were prepared to be indulgent while Jill and Gage experienced for themselves
the wonder of Zenful Springs.
Terri, Jill’s esthetician, asked, “Any special reason you’re here?”
Gage giggled and pointed to Jill. “We’re here because of her. She has a hot date for Thanksgiving.”
Jill rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure Thanksgiving and hot date belong in the same sentence.”
Terri offered a reassuring nod. “You’ve come to the right place. After you’ve changed into your robes, come and choose a color.” She waved her hand toward a library of carousels filled with nail polish. “When you’ve done that, get comfortable in the chairs—enjoy the view. Merri and I will bring basins of hot water for soaking your feet while we work on your hands.” She splashed champagne into tall clear glasses.
Jill didn’t have to be told twice. She stripped out of her clothes. Warmth from the robe eased into her tight shoulders as she spun one of the carousels reading the names of nail polish out loud. “Sterling Silver Rose, Love Me Red, Smokin’ in Havana, Kissable, Midnight Secret, Try Me”
“Oooh, Try Me—that’s luscious,” Terri said indicating one of the reclining chairs. “Many of my clients just love that one. You have a wonderful aura—perfect for that color.”
Jill giggled. She couldn’t help herself. There was just no way she could imagine herself with Try Me nails. “I’m sure, but I’ll just go with a French manicure.”
Terri looked at Gage. “How about you? You up for one of those?”
“Either Kissable or Love Me Red.”
Jill slipped off to some wonderful place beyond oblivion when Terri clucked, “Your hands have been neglected. They show signs of too much tension. That kind of tension circulates through the body. While you’re here, why don’t you have a massage? I have someone special in mind for you. Very spiritual. He’ll know exactly how to make you feel like a new woman.”
Although Jill had often recommended massage to others, she’d never actually had one herself. The idea of allowing a stranger such familiar contact with her body was just a little too touchy-feely. “No massage, but there is something I’d like to have done.”
Terri’s eyes widened. “What’s that?”
Jill flushed as she fought back the anticipation of Gavin’s reaction to her next request. “I’d like to—do you do waxings?”
“Sure. Brows, upper lip, those stubborn little chin hairs, underarms, bikini.”
“Bikini.”
Gage craned her neck and stared at Jill. “You’re getting a bikini wax?”
Still flushing, Jill nodded, aware of just how out of character she was. “And I’ve changed my mind about that massage.”
Gage flexed her fingers, examining Merri’s handiwork and smiled. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
Terri topped off their champagne. “Follow us, ladies. What kind of waxing are you interested in?”
Confused, Jill asked, “I don’t understand.”
Terri led Jill into a private room and pointed to a diagram on the wall. “Well, if you look at our diagram, you’ll see various options.”
Jill drained her glass, eying the diagram. “Oh, just take it all.” She giggled. “Make a clean sweep.”
Half an hour later, lying stark naked, except for the little strip of cloth across her sacral region which was now sans anything-but-skin, Jill luxuriated under the long, slow strokes being administered by the gloriously bronzed Hans. He placed a warmed stone at the nape of her neck, more stones at her shoulders, and a trail of stones along her spine. He planted one in the palm of each hand, on the rise of her calves, and in the arches of her feet.
Steeped in warmth, she relaxed as he worked the stones, gently pressing them into her skin, and coaxing her muscles until they loosened. When the stones cooled, he removed them and massaged warm oil into her shoulders. The oil smelled faintly sweet, and she liked it.
“What is that?” In her tranquil state, she could hardly get out the words.
Hans’ smile warmed his words. “The blend is one of my own. Your body is telling me it needs attention. Too much stress. Not enough joy. What you smell is a mixture of Ylang Ylang and chamomile. This blend helps combat stress and mental fatigue, and opens you up to new possibilities—things you might not have seen clearly before.”
The last of her resistance to massage evaporated under the care of Hans whose hands were strong, yet gentle. He used his fingertips, the palms of his hands, his thumbs, and at times, his knuckles to strip away the tension, layer by layer. By the time Hans finished, Jill thought they’d have to roll her off the table.
“Wine,” Gage decreed after they’d showered.
Over a bowl of tagliatelle with cream of walnuts, olives and prosciutto di parma, Jill asked, “How difficult is obtaining an accident report?”
“A current report?”
As she fingered the stem of her wine glass, Jill hedged. “Define current.”
Gage smoothed her napkin across her lap. “Open. Is the case still open? Oh, you’re talking about the accident that killed Vivienne Fairfield.”
“Yes.”
“If you want the report, I can get it. But why? What will that accomplish for either of you?”
Jill twirled her wine. “I’m stuck on the fact Vivienne was diagnosed as a somatic narcissist.”
Gage drew back and her eyebrows shot up. “She was? Then there’s no way she would have committed suicide, you can bet on that.”
Jill nodded. “Exactly. Which is why I’d like to see the report. Even if she was planning to kill herself the odds of her intentionally involving Olivia are even lower. Narcissists can’t bear to share the spotlight, even after they’re dead. Vivienne would have viewed Olivia as quite a scene stealer. So, I’d like to know why the police ruled it a suicide/attempted homicide.”
Gage bit her lip and leaned forward. “This might not be anything. I was pulled off the case before I got started, but from what I saw, the evidence pointed to someone forcing her off the road. That night was one of the worst thunder storms I can remember. Trees were down everywhere. I’ve never seen a crime scene get messed up so fast. Crews couldn’t come in and clear the wreck until the next day.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, Vivienne’s narcissistic tendencies aside, if a woman is planning to commit suicide, why would she pack up all her stuff? I’d be interested to learn if the police did an inventory of the car. If so, did they find any of Olivia’s clothes?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Jill’s eyes widened.
Gage took out her phone and made a few notes. “Okay, I’m on it. But how will this help Gavin?”
Jill pushed crumbs around on the white tablecloth. “I’m not sure yet. Maybe it won’t. The idea he should have known what Vivienne was about to do is killing him. He thinks he could have—strike that, should have—prevented the tragedy. He can’t forgive himself and so he can’t give up until his daughter is a musician again.” Jill flattened her hands against the table. “I’m hoping to convince him once and for all that the accident was the tragic outcome of a random event. There’s no way to protect the ones we love from random events.”
Chapter Twenty-One
No matter how many times she searched her closet, Jill couldn’t find anything appropriate for a Thanksgiving dinner with the Fairfields. But after a quick trip next door, she returned with a cashmere dress. Navy blue for his parents, soft and comfortable for Olivia, and a just-this-side-of-daring neckline with a cut that skimmed her body like a wetsuit for Gavin.
Jill kept turning in the mirror, trying to make up her mind. A little too tight, maybe? She caught one last glance on her way to answer the door and relaxed. She looked hot, yet respectable. Through the foyer window, she spotted the Bentley. A tremor of disappointment ran through her. She’d expected Gavin, not Baines. But to her surprise, when she opened the door, she found Olivia impatiently tapping her foot.
“Hurry,” the little autocrat commanded. “We have to get back fast or Master Steven will start without me.”
Jill barely managed to collect her coat and purse before Olivia seized her hand and dragged her to the Bentley. She yanked open the door and gave Jill a shove, then hopped in beside her. “Scoot down closer to Daddy so I can get the door closed.” She slammed the door. “Okay Baines, let’s go. I can’t be late.”
Gavin grinned. “I see she didn’t give you a chance to put on your coat. Would you like me to help you with that, or are you warm enough in here without it?”
Every word he spoke unleashed his sheer sensuality.
Olivia popped ear buds into her ears and turned on her iPod.
Gavin grazed his lips against her ear. “If you get cold, just lean into me.”
Jill smiled, considered brushing her lips lightly across his, glanced briefly at Olivia, and leaned forward. “Happy Thanksgiving, Baines.”
Baines caught her gaze in the rear view mirror. “Always a pleasure to see you, Dr. Cole.”
Gavin squeezed Jill’s hand.
She caught her breath at the intensity of his touch and glanced at Olivia.
With his other hand, he brushed the hair from her neck and whispered. “Don’t worry about Liv. She’s cool.”
“Cool about what?” she asked, wondering what he’d done, now.
He nuzzled her hair. “She knows Thanksgiving’s a time for family, and that you’re a part of ours. Any objections?”
Was there no managing this man? Jill’s eyes widened. Would she ever get used to his over-zealous leaps? Was he so entirely unaware of the possible consequences if Olivia’s reaction to their relationship was negative?
Olivia yanked out one of her ear buds. “Daddy, are you sure Master Steven hasn’t started without me?”
“Who is Master Steven, and what would he have started without her?” Jill asked.
“You’ll see.” Gavin winked and squeezed her hand. “What do you normally do for Thanksgiving?”
His question unlocked a torrent of emotion. Before she could stop herself, Jill crumpled against his shoulder, her eyes burning with tears.
He rocked her until she quieted. “I’m sorry, Jillian, I’d forgotten that only four months have elapsed since your sister passed.”
Naked Hope Page 22
