"Great. How about you?"
Not all that great. "Okay." He was bumped from behind and took a step closer. "What have you been up to?"
"I'm thinking of opening a new store."
He stood close enough to smell her skin. She smelled like lilacs. "What are you going to sell?"
"Essential oils and aromatherapy. I did so well at the Coeur Festival that I think I can make a success out of it."
She smelled like that soap she'd rubbed all over him that day in the shower after he'd made love to her. "Are you going to open it in Hyde Park again?"
"No. The demography is better for alternative ventures in Old Boise. I've already looked into a space. The rent is higher than it was in Hyde Park, but once I sell Anomaly, I think I can afford it. I won't have an employee, I have inventory coming out of my ears, and my start-up costs are reasonably low. When I get the lease…"
Standing so close without touching her took every ounce of self-discipline he possessed. His gaze lowered to her lips, and he watched her talk, when what he really wanted was to cover her mouth with his. He watched her speak, when what he really wanted was to take her home and keep her all to himself. His mother was right. He could look at her for the rest of his life. All over, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He wanted to touch her arid make love to her and watch her while she slept.
He wanted to ask her if she still loved him.
"… isn't that right, Shannie?"
He didn't have a clue what Dale was asking. He didn't care, either. "Can I talk to you a minute, Gabrielle?"
"Actually," Dale answered for her, "I'd just asked her to dance when you walked up. She said yes."
Joe had no experience with the jealousy burning like lava in his gut. He looked into her face and said, "Now you can tell him no." The second the words were out of his mouth he knew he'd made a mistake. Her eyes got squinty, and she opened her mouth to let him have it.
"Where's your girlfriend?" Dale asked before she got the chance to tell him to go to hell.
Her mouth closed and she got real still.
Jesus. What had he ever done to deserve this bullshit? "I don't have a girlfriend," he gritted between his teeth.
"Then who is the woman who owns that deli down on Eighth?"
"Just a friend."
"Just a friend and she brings you lunch?"
Joe wondered if the rookie detective would like his nose pushed beneath his left ear. "That's right."
Dale turned to Gabrielle. "Ready?"
"Yes." And without a glance in his direction, she set her wineglass on the bar and headed toward the dance floor. Dale's hand settled in the small of her bare back.
Joe ordered a beer from the bar, then turned to stare through an arched doorway and onto the darkened dance floor in the next room. He didn't need an arrow to point out Gabrielle. With her height, she was easy to spot.
It was a hell of a thing to look at the woman you loved in the arms of another man. Watch the flash of her white smile as she laughed at some stupid joke, and not be able to do a damn thing about it without looking like a jealous ass. He took a pull off the beer without taking his gaze from Gabrielle. He might not have fully realized how much he loved her until he'd seen her walk in the room tonight, but that didn't mean he didn't feel it in every cell in his body. It didn't mean he didn't feel it in every aching thud of his heart.
Winston Densley and his date sidled up to the bar next to Joe, and the two detectives talked shop and discussed the more interesting features of the Hillards' bathroom-the gold toilet with the warm seat. Joe surprised himself and waited a full five minutes before he set his beer on the bar and wove his way onto the crowded dance floor. The kind of Kenny G. saxophone music Joe usually avoided like a flesh-eating disease ended just as he placed his hand on Detective Parker's shoulder. "I'm cutting in."
"Later."
"Now."
"That's up to Gabrielle."
Through the shadowy space that separated them, her gaze held Joe's and she said, "It's okay, Dale. I'm going to listen to what he has to say, and then he's going to leave me alone for the rest of the evening."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Dale looked at Joe and shook his head. "You're an asshole, Shanahan."
"Yeah, so sue me." The music started again, and Joe took her hand in his and wrapped his other arm around her waist. She stood as stiff as a statue within his embrace, but just holding her again was like coming home after an extended absence.
"What do you want?" she asked next to his ear.
You, he thought, but he figured she wouldn't be really happy to hear his answer right now. They needed to clear the air between them before he told her how he felt about her. "I stopped seeing Ann over a week ago."
"What happened, did she dump you?"
She was hurt. He would make it up to her. He folded her against his chest. Her breasts brushed his lapels, and he slid his palm to her bare back. A familiar ache settled in the pit of his belly and spread to his groin. "No, Ann was never really my girlfriend."
"Not again? Were you just pretending with her, too?"
She was angry. He deserved it. "No. She was never my confidential informant like you were. I've known her since we were kids." He slipped his hand up her smooth skin and turned his nose into her hair. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent. The smell reminded him of the day he'd seen her floating in that little pool. "I used to date her sister."
"Was her sister a real or pretend girlfriend?"
Joe sighed and opened his eyes. "You're determined to be mad at me no matter what I say."
"I'm not mad."
"You're mad."
She pulled back and looked at him, and he'd been right. Her eyes were all hot, no longer cold and indifferent. Which he figured was one of those good/bad things, depending on how he looked at it.
"Tell me why you're so angry," he urged, fully expecting to hear how much he'd hurt her that night on the porch, and after she'd poured it all out, he would make everything okay.
"You brought me a muffin from your girlfriend's deli the morning we made love!"
That wasn't quite what he'd expected to hear. In fact, it wasn't anything like what he'd expected. "What?"
She looked somewhere over his left shoulder as if the sight of him hurt too much. "You brought me-"
"I heard you," he interrupted and quickly glanced around to see if any of the other couples had heard her also. She hadn't exactly been quiet. He didn't know what buying a muffin had to do with the morning they'd made love. He'd also brought her a turkey sandwich from Ann's deli. Big deal, but he didn't mention the sandwich because he recognized this was one of those conversations he would never understand and would never win. Instead he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Come home with me. We can talk there. I've missed you."
"I can feel how much you miss me against my thigh," she said, but still wouldn't look at him.
If she thought his obvious arousal would embarrass him, she would have to think again. "I'm not ashamed of wanting you. And yes, I've missed touching you, and holding you, and I want that again. But that isn't all I've missed about you since you left town." He placed his palms on the sides of her face, bringing her gaze back to his. "I've missed the way you glance around when you think your karma is going to zap you. I miss watching you walk and the way you push your hair behind your ears. I miss the sound of your voice, and that you try to be a vegetarian and can't. I miss that you believe you're a pacifist even as you shock me on the arm. I've missed everything about you, Gabrielle."
She blinked twice, and he thought she might be softening. "When I was out of town, did you know where I was?"
"Yes."
She pulled herself from his embrace. "Then how bad did you really miss me?"
He didn't have an easy answer for her.
"Stay out of my life," she said, then walked from the dance floor.
He didn't follow. Watching her walk a
way from him this time was the purest hell he'd ever suffered, but he'd been a detective for eight years. He'd learned when to back away from the chase until things cooled down.
But he would only wait so long. He'd wasted enough time denying himself the woman he wanted and needed in his life. Dinner every night by six and matching socks wasn't going to make him happy. Gabrielle made him happy. He understood now what she'd told him that night on her porch. She was his soul. He was her soul. He loved her, and she loved him. Something like that didn't disappear, especially in one month.
Joe wasn't a patient man, but what he lacked in patience, he made up for in tenacity. While he gave her time, he'd romance her. True, he didn't have very much experience in that department, but women loved that sort of thing. He was sure he could do it.
He was sure he could romance the hell out of Gabrielle Breedlove.
Chapter Eighteen
At nine o'clock the next morning, the first dozen roses arrived. They were gorgeous and pure white, and they were from Joe. He'd scrawled his name across the card, but that was it. Just his name. Gabrielle didn't have a clue what that meant, but she wasn't about to read anything into it. She'd done that once. She'd read too much into the way he'd kissed her and made love to her, and she'd paid.
The second dozen were red. The third dozen, pink. Their fragrance filled her house. She still absolutely refused to look for meaning, but when she realized she was waiting for his call, just as she had the day of Kevin's arrest, she pulled on a T-shirt and running shorts and took off for her jog.
No more waiting. She needed to clear her head. She needed to figure out what to do because she didn't think she could take another repeat of the night before. Seeing him hurt too much. She'd thought she was strong enough to face the other half of her soul, but she wasn't She couldn't look into the eyes of the man she loved and know he didn't love her. Especially now, when she knew that on the morning he'd made love to her, he'd visited his girlfriend first. Hearing about the woman who owned the deli had been one more stab to her already wounded heart. A deli owner would love to cook. She probably wouldn't mind cleaning the house and doing Joe's laundry, either. The things he'd mentioned were important to him that day in the storage room when he'd pushed her against the wall and kissed her until she could hardly breathe.
Gabrielle jogged past St. John's, a few blocks from her house. The doors were thrown open, and music from the pipe organ floated through the wooden entrance to the old cathedral. Gabrielle wondered if Joe was Catholic or Protestant or atheist. Then she remembered he'd said he'd attended a parochial school, and she figured he was Catholic. Not that it mattered now.
She jogged past Boise High and ran four laps around the school's track before she once again turned toward home. Back to her house filled with the flowers Joe had sent her. Back to the confusion she'd felt since the day she'd met him. She felt it now more than ever. Fresh air hadn't helped at all to clear her head, and there was only one thing she knew for sure. If Joe did call, she'd tell him he had to stop. No more calls or flowers. She didn't want to see him.
She figured the chances of them accidentally running into each other were slim. He was a property crimes detective, and she didn't foresee a burglary in her future. She planned to open a shop selling her oils, and she didn't envision Joe as a potential aromatherapy customer. There was no reason why they would ever see each other again.
Except that he was waiting for her on her front porch, sitting with his feet planted on the step beneath him, forearms resting across his thighs. His sunglasses swung from one hand suspended between his knees. He looked up at her approach and slowly rose. No matter what she told herself, her treacherous heart swelled at the sight of him. Then, as if he thought she meant to say something he didn't want to hear, he held up his hand to stop her. But really, she didn't know what to say, since she hadn't formed a coherent thought yet.
"Before you order me off of your porch," he began, "I have something to tell you."
He'd dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a cotton shirt that buttoned up the front. He'd rolled the long sleeves up his forearms. He looked so good she wanted to reach out and touch him, but of course she didn't. "I heard what you had to say last night," she said.
"I don't know what happened last night, but I definitely didn't say everything I needed to."
He shifted his weight to one foot. "Are you going to invite me inside?"
"No."
He stared at her for a moment. "Did you get the roses?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Oh good." He opened his mouth, shut it, then tried again. "I don't know where to begin. I'm afraid of saying the wrong thing again." He paused then said, "I'm sorry I hurt you."
She couldn't look at him and lowered her gaze to her feet. "Is that why you sent the roses?"
"Yes."
The second she heard his answer, she realized she shouldn't have asked the question. She also realized that in a tiny corner of her masochistic heart, she'd held on to the hope that he'd sent the flowers because he loved her the way she loved him. "It's over. I'm over it."
"I don't believe you."
"Believe what you want then." She moved past him, to reach the safety of her house before she burst into tears. The last thing she wanted was for Joe to see her cry.
He reached out and grasped her arm. "Please don't walk away from me again. I know I hurt you the night you told me you loved me and I walked away, but Gabrielle, you've walked away from me twice now."
She stopped. Not because he held her arm but because there was something in his voice that caught her attention and held her in its grasp. Something she'd never heard before. Something in the way he'd said her name. "When did I ever walk away from you?"
"Last night, and each time I watched you go hurt like a bitch, like I said, I know that I really hurt you, but don't you think that maybe we can call a truce? Maybe we're even now?" He slid his palm down her arm and grasped her hand. "Don't you think it's time that you let me make it up to you?" He pulled something from his pocket and pressed a metal disk into her palm. "I am the other half of your soul," he said. "And you are the other half of my soul. Together we make each other whole."
Gabrielle opened her hand and looked down at the flat black-and-white pendant suspended from a silver chain. The yin and yang. He understood.
"We belong together." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you."
She heard him, but she couldn't speak past the emotions expanding like a balloon in her chest She stared at the necklace and what it represented. If she believed him, if she trusted him, he'd just given her everything her heart desired.
"And in case you're thinking of telling me to get out of your life again, there's one more thing you should consider. Just think about all the good karma you can create for yourself when you reform me."
She glanced up into his face, and her vision blurred through her tears. "Do you mean it?" "Yes. You can reform me. Well, you can try." She shook her head as a tear slid down her cheek. "I mean, do you really love me, Joe?"
"With every breath I take," he said without hesitation. "I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy." He wiped her wet cheek with the back of his hand and asked, "Do you still love me, Gabrielle?"
He sounded so uncertain, his eyes so intense, that she couldn't suppress the smile curving her lips. "Yes, I still love you." Absolute relief softened his gaze, and she added, "Although I don't think you deserve me." "I know I don't deserve you." "Would you like to come inside anyway?" A whoosh of air escaped his chest. "Yes." He followed her into the house and waited until she closed the door before he reached for her. His hands grabbed her shoulders, and he pulled her up against his chest. "I've missed you," he said as he planted kisses on her face and her throat. Then he pulled back, looked into her eyes, and swooped in to press his lips to hers. His tongue plunged inside her mouth, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands were everywhere at once. Greedy touches caressing her back, her behind, and
cupping her breasts. His thumbs brushed her nipples, and they instantly hardened. She felt totally consumed. Wrapped up in his arms. His embrace. Him. Loving him as much as he loved her.
She pulled back to catch her breath. "I'm sweaty. I have to take a shower."
"I don't care."
"I do."
He pulled air into his lungs and dropped his arms. "Okay, I didn't come here to rush you into anything you aren't ready to do. I know I hurt you, and I know you probably don't feel like making love to me right now. I can wait." He blew out his breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, I'll just wait for you. I'll just-" He paused and looked around. "Read a magazine or something."
She tried not to laugh. "You could do that. Or you could join me."
His gaze flew to hers, and Gabrielle reached for his hand. She led him toward the bathroom, and somehow along the way, she lost her shirt and he lost his. He paused to place his open mouth on the side of her neck. She released the hooks of her tight sports bra and freed her breasts into his waiting palms. His deep red aura surrounded them both. Surrounded her with his passion and something that hadn't been there before. His love. It poured over and through her like a heat wave and raised the hair on her arms.
"You're so beautiful to me," he spoke into the hollow of her throat. "I want to spend the rest of my life looking at you, being with you, making you happy."
Gabrielle kissed him long and hard, her tongue touching and chasing his. He brushed his palms across her tight nipples, then lightly squeezed her breasts. Desire swept across her flesh, and she shoved her hand down the front of his pants and grasped his incredibly hard erection. He was stone covered with satin-smooth skin. She stroked him, running her thumb up and over the head of his hot penis. Feeling him, rediscovering the shape and texture of him until he took a step back and pulled her hand from his pants.
It Must Be Love Page 25
