If Ever I Loved You

by Phyllis Halldorson

  Stewart had been inclined to make a leisurely day of the drive, but Gina couldn't leave San Francisco behind fast enough and urged him not to tarry. Twyla remained neutral. They stopped only once, at Bodega Bay, for breakfast, and arrived home to Mendocino in time for a late lunch.

  It was during that trip, while Twyla kept the conversation going with Stewart, that Gina managed to set her thoughts in order. She realized now that she had just been marking time with her life, that the shock of the abrupt disintegration of her marriage had left her in a state of suspended animation. She couldn't give herself to another man until she'd brought her relationship with Peter full circle and healed the wound that was still raw.

  Gina plugged in the automatic coffee maker and strolled out onto the balcony that ran the width of her second floor apartment. She never tired of the sight or the sound of the small bay just across Main Street and down a slight embankment. It was so peaceful, and in times of stress she came out here to lean against the railing and watch the sunbeams playing on the blue-green water, or the white waves splashing against the rocky shore. By noon the deserted streets below would be alive with tourists, artists, art lovers and collectors who during the summer swarm to this quaint Cape Cod-type village with its ancient clapboard houses, converted now into small independent art galleries and boutiques.

  Gina checked the gold jeweled watch Stewart had given her for Christmas. Before long she would have to go downstairs and open her own gallery, known simply as "Gina's," that comprised the entire lower floor of this house. Gina worked on the ground level, lived on the top level, and made regular payments to the mortgage company.

  She stepped back through the glass doors into the long living room that fronted the house. At the west end a round walnut table and two matching chairs provided a dining area that blended in with the somewhat meager furnishings of the rest of the room. When Gina occasionally entertained it was very informal, usually a buffet dinner with over-sized cushions for the majority of the guests who preferred to sit on the floor, and T.V. trays for the rest.

  The old-fashioned kitchen opened off the dining area. Gina poured herself a cup of coffee and was rummaging through the elderly refrigerator looking for an orange when the melodious tones of organ music chimed softly through the house. The doorbell. Another gift from Stewart who hated the raucous scream most of them made.

  Now who could that be this early in the morning? she thought, then, remembering the art supplies she'd ordered the previous week, decided it was a delivery man. "Just a minute." she called as she hurried to the small entry hall on the east side of the house and fumbled with the lock before opening the door.

  Her breath caught in her throat and her violet eyes widened as she clutched the doorknob and stared at the tall blond man who stood on the landing at the top of her outdoor stairway. It was Peter, looking as sexy as he ever had in custom-tailored brown slacks that fit tightly around his slender waist and hips and revealed the muscular firmness of his thighs. His shirt was terra-cotta and tan with a touch of lemon, worn open at the neck and topped with a lightweight beige, V-necked slipover sweater.

  "May I come in?" he asked in that husky, sensuous voice that always had sent shivers down her spine. This time was no exception, and she heard the slight tremor in her voice as she said, "Yes, of course, please do," and stepped aside so he could enter.

  He brushed against her lightly in the narrow passageway and she wondered if he could hear the pounding of her heart. This is ridiculous, She told herself. Peter Van Housen means nothing to me anymore! My stupid emotions are unsettled because I didn't expect him to come so early in the morning.

  He walked into the living room without waiting to be directed, and as she followed behind she wondered if her trembling legs would continue to hold her up. "Won't you sit down?" she said politely, as though he were a stranger who had come to call. She motioned to the comfortable but inexpensive russet- and cream-striped sofa. "I'll get you some coffee."

  She turned and made her way quickly to the kitchen, but escape wasn't going to be that easy. This time he had followed her and was standing behind her as her shaking hands poured more coffee on the counter than they did in the cup. Peter muttered an oath as he took the glass coffee pitcher from her and set it back on the heating element, then picked up both their cups and carried them to the pine kitchen table that was covered with a red- and white-checked cloth.

  It was apparent to Gina that he wasn't affected by this meeting. He was calm and cool and treating her like an overwrought child. They sat across from each other at the table and she could find no trace of emotion in either his strong, handsome face or his deep blue eyes, those eyes that had once leaped with a fiery passion when they looked at her. Well that's the way she wanted it, she told herself. He'd never really loved her, and now he was married to Veronica and they probably had several children, although she couldn't visualize the super-sophisticated Veronica changing diapers or kissing little faces smeared with pureed vegetables.

  She took a deep breath and hoped her voice wouldn't quiver as she said, "Why are you here, Peter?"

  He raised a dark brown eyebrow. "Surely you aren't going to tell me you weren't expecting me."

  She took a sip of coffee and tried again. "I suppose Stewart told you where I live?"

  "Well I sure as hell didn't find out from you!" he exploded. "Where have you been for the last seven years, Ginny Lea?"

  So there was some emotion under that cold exterior. He might be human after all. "I—my father asked for temporary duty on the east coast and was sent to Maryland. I graduated from the university there four years later and was offered a job here in Mendocino. I came and stayed."

  He glared at her. "You mean you've been here for three years?" he said gratingly.

  She nodded. "My friend, Twyla Sisson, who was an art teacher of mine at the University of Maryland, was left a small legacy by an elderly relative. She came out here and bought half-interest in Gallery By The Sea, which is our most prestigious art gallery—"

  He waved her explanation aside absently. "I'm familiar with Gallery By The Sea and I've heard of Twyla Sisson. Is she the reason you came out here?"

  "Yes," answered Gina, "she sent me a plane ticket for a graduation present, and I decided to stay here and work for her. After a while I started selling some of my own paintings too, and eventually I bought this place. The gallery is on the floor below."

  "I know," Peter said. "I looked through the windows before I came upstairs." He looked straight at her. "You must not have lived with Mel long."

  She gasped. There it was, the taunting, hateful thrust. She'd known it was coming, but not when, or how. Peter was still watching her and she wasn't going to let him see how badly he still had the power to hurt her. "I haven't seen Mel since the day you and I went to talk to him," she said simply.

  There was emotion in his face now. It was disbelief tinged with disgust. "Don't lie to me," he snapped. "I returned to San Francisco after a few weeks and both you and Mel were gone. I was told you'd left together."

  It didn't take much imagination to know who told him that! Well, there was no sense in arguing about it, he wouldn't believe her anyway. "It doesn't matter to me anymore what you believe, Peter. Did you just come here to torment me?"

  "Torment you!" he hissed. "I couldn't even begin to dish out the kind of torment you seem to have mastered. Don't forget, my passionate little artist, that I was the injured party in that long-ago calamity." He nearly toppled his chair as he stood and turned away from her. "How I could ever have been so gullible—"

  He stood there for a moment, tense and silent, and Gina clasped her shaking hands together in her lap. She wondered if she was strong enough to withstand a replay of those dreadful scenes she'd had with Peter seven years ago. Why, oh why had she ever come back to California? She'd known at the time that it was probably a mistake, but she never seemed to learn—

  Peter's voice broke into her thoughts and it was once again cool and cont
rolled. "How long have you been engaged to Stewart Tobias?"

  Gina breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to pursue the old argument after all. She answered his question almost eagerly. "I met him shortly after I came here, and we've been engaged about four months."

  He turned toward her and leaned against the wall. "When are you planning to be married?"

  There was an undercurrent to his tone, and Gina stiffened. "We—we haven't set a date yet."

  "Why aren't you living with him?"

  The question and the manner in which it was asked touched a spring in her nervous system and she jumped to her feet and faced him. "That's none of your business!" she rasped. "You have no right to pry into my personal relationship with Stewart!"

  His hands gripped her shoulders before she could see them coming and move away. "The hell I haven't!" he shouted. "You married me, remember?"

  The nerve of him! The unmitigated gall! She tried to twist away from him, but his fingers dug into her flesh as he hauled her closer.

  She pushed against his chest with the palms of her hands as she cried, "That was never a marriage and you know it! You couldn't wait to take advantage of what looked like an excuse to end it, and your lawyer came around two days later with annulment papers and made it official. Now get out of here. Go home to your wife and leave me alone!"

  His painful grip on her shoulders loosened and a look of surprise crossed his face. "Wife?" he exclaimed.

  "Yes, wife." She tried again to pull away but he held her firm. "Did you think I hadn't heard that you married Veronica after the annulment? Or that the two of you live most of the time in Europe? Had you forgotten that art circles have sharp grapevines?"

  All emotion drained from his features and they settled into an impenetrable mask. "Veronica's dead," he said coldly. "She was killed two years ago in a skiing accident in Switzerland."

  A wave of horror swept through Gina, melting the rage that had built up within her. Veronica dead. That beautiful, willful woman who had all the advantages life could give. She'd been vicious and Gina had hated her, but she'd never wished her dead! And Peter. What had Veronica's death done to him?

  She realized that she'd been staring at him without really seeing him. In an instinctive gesture she reached up and touched his cheek with her fingers. A muscle twitched in his jaw as she whispered, "Oh Peter, I'm so sorry."

  His hands left her shoulders and his arms encircled her waist as he cradled her against his tall lean body and rubbed the cheek with the rough contour of his jaw. "So am I," he murmured.

  For a long moment they stood silently embracing, their bodies moving together as one. She could feel his heart beating in rhythm with her own, and the tangy scent of citrus shaving lotion blended with his own warm maleness to produce a highly sensual aroma that stirred repressed longings deep inside her.

  Peter was the first to break the spell. "Why didn't you answer my letters, Ginny Lea?"

  She pushed away from him and this time he let her go. "What letters?"

  "When I returned to San Francisco and found you gone I wrote to you at your parents' last address and asked that it be forwarded," he explained. "I know you received the letter because I never got it back, but you never answered it."

  Gina ran her hand through her raven locks in a gesture of frustration. Was there no end to the evils he could think up to accuse her of? Was he still bent on punishing her for her so-called sins? Well, she wasn't going to let him do that. She was a big girl now. She'd grown up in the last seven years. She was no longer eighteen, wildly in love, and quiveringly vulnerable. He could only hurt her now if she let him, and that she would not do.

  She took a deep breath and replied. "I didn't answer your nonexistent letter because I never received it. Don't lie to me, Peter, I'm not stupid. We left a forwarding address at the post office. If you'd mailed a letter to me I would have gotten it."

  Peter's light skin flushed darkly and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. "Hell, woman," he roared. "Don't you ever admit to any of your wrongdoings? And you have the brass to stand there and call me a liar! I not only wrote to you once, but after a couple of weeks when I received no reply I wrote again. Now don't try to tell me you didn't get either letter because that's just too much of a coincidence. One lost in the mail, maybe. Two, never."

  Gina sank wearily down on the chair she had recently vacated. "This is getting us nowhere, Peter," she said tonelessly. "Please, just leave. Go back to San Francisco or Europe or wherever it is that you live and leave me alone."

  In a move that caught her by surprise Peter hunkered down in front of her and put a hand on either side of her waist. His blue eyes looked deeply into her violet ones. "But I can't leave you alone, Ginny Lea," he murmured roughly and pulled her forward so she slid off the chair and onto her knees on the floor.

  Before she could protest his mouth covered hers in a hard punishing kiss. Her lips parted in a gasp admitting his seeking, plundering tongue. She struggled, pounding her fists on his back, but his arms tightened around her waist, pulling her between his thighs, making her aware of his taut, hard muscles and the urgency of his need for her. Her body ignited like dry straw under a torch and it was as it had been years ago, only more so. With a moan of surrender her arms clasped around his neck and she pressed even closer in a frenzied desire to assuage his male needs and to ease the burning ache in her own body.

  Their lovemaking was so intense that she was totally unprepared when he suddenly unclasped her arms from around him and pushed her away. His breath was coming in short rasping pants as he stood and looked down at her bewildered upturned face.

  "Oh no, Ginny Lea," he said, "I can't leave you alone because you belong to me. I never filed those annulment papers. Like it or not you're still my wife and you can forget any plans you've made to marry Stewart Tobias!"

  He turned quickly and walked out of the house, slamming the door behind him, and she could hear his heavy footsteps on every one of the eighteen wooden steps before he reached the sidewalk.

  His wife! Peter had said she was still his wife! Oh please, no!

  Gina sat back on her heels and buried her ravaged face in her hands as dry sobs shook her slender frame. Once more Peter Van Housen had brought her to her knees and her defenses against him had been as effective as a sprinkling can at an inferno!

  Chapter Four

  The sun was still shining brightly at seven o'clock but Gina had wilted long before then. Her head ached from the effort she'd put into concentrating on the business of answering her customers' interminable questions and now and then selling them a picture or a small, relatively inexpensive sculpture. Usually she loved the tourists with their inquisitive expressions, their bubbling laughter and their bulging wallets, but today her nerves were rubbed raw and her hand was unsteady as she fitted the key in the lock of the gallery door.

  A voice from behind made her jump. "I've been waiting for you to lock up. Come, I'll take you to dinner."

  She closed her eyes for a moment in an effort to ease the pounding in her head and regain her composure, then turned to face Peter Van Housen. She should have known he'd do the unexpected. All day long she'd jumped every time the little bell signaled the opening of the door. She'd known he would return but she'd expected him earlier, not now when she'd finally let down her guard and was confident of reprieve.

  She dropped her key in her purse and sighed. "Not tonight, Peter, I haven't the stamina for another encounter with you. Perhaps tomorrow."

  He took her arm and started to walk with her. "You'll feel better once you've had a drink. We'll go to the Mendocino Lodge. I'll have dinner sent up to my room and we can talk."

  He stopped in front of a sleek, shiny black Jaguar and leaned down to open the door on the passenger side. She pulled away from him angrily. "I'm not going to your room with you. Call me tomorrow and we'll arrange something more public."

  She tried to brush past him but his fingers clamped around her wrist. "Grow up, Ginny
Lea," he snapped. "That virginal innocence routine doesn't work with me anymore, remember? Besides, I'm not proposing an orgy, just a quiet talk."

  She glared at him. "Not in your room."

  His grip lessened and he shrugged. "Have it your way, we'll eat in the Lodge dining room in full view of all the other diners. Is that public enough for you?"

  He helped her step into the low-slung sports car and shut the door.

  They did not dine in full view of the rest of the diners as he had promised, but at a secluded table partially hidden by lush hanging begonias in shades of scarlet and yellow and salmon. The glass wall behind them enhanced the garden setting with a view of the forest in which the Lodge was nestled.

  Peter ordered Scotch on the rocks for both of them and Gina didn't object although she seldom drank whiskey. Maybe the smooth power of the amber liquid would give her the strength she needed to get through this discussion. She fingered the moist crystal glass as she said, "All right, Peter, I've waited all day for the other shoe to drop. What's this nonsense about us still being married?"

  He took a hefty swallow of his drink and set it down. "It's not nonsense, I never filed for an annulment. If you didn't, and I know you didn't because I would have been notified, then you're still my wife."

  Gina's aching head swam with confusion. "But I signed the papers! Your lawyer said that was all you wanted from me. He said after that I'd be free, and not to try to get any money from you because I wouldn't stand a snowball's chance in Hades of collecting."

  Peter swore and actually sounded regretful as he said, "Sorry. I wasn't thinking rationally at the time. I fully expected to have to battle you in court over a settlement, though. The last thing I imagined was that you would run away, drop off the face of the earth."

  He picked up the whiskey glass and drained it in one gulp. "Why, Ginny Lea? If you didn't want money, why did you marry me?"