He took another swallow of whiskey then looked at the meager contents left in the glass. "I'm going to have a refill," he said. "Can I fix you something?"
Without answering Gina reached out and took the glass from his hand. "Go sit down, I'll fix it for you," she said and headed toward the bar.
Peter didn't move but watched her as she found a bottle of club soda and poured it into the whiskey until the glass was again full. He made a face and muttered, "That wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
She smiled as she came toward him with the drink. "That's what you're going to get as long as I'm tending bar."
He took the glass from her and moved to the couch. "Remind me to have you replaced, pronto," he grumbled as he sat down.
Peter leaned his head against the back of the velour sofa and closed his eyes, and for a few minutes neither of them spoke. It was impossible to tell how much he had been drinking by his actions or his speech, but he looked ill and Gina suspected he was the type who got sick instead of drunk.
Without moving or opening his eyes he said, "You might as well tell me what you want. I know you didn't come here just to sit beside me on the couch."
Actually, she'd been enjoying the quiet closeness and was fighting the urge to move closer and take his hand. He seemed to like to have her touch him, but that always started up another whole train of thought that was best left dormant.
Instead she answered factually. "Lilly brought me. She said you were drinking too much and talking about driving to San Francisco and she wanted me to stop you."
He muttered an oath. "I see my big sister is still meddling in my life. I wish she'd back off and leave me alone."
"It's only because she loves you that she worries."
He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "I'm glad to hear somebody loves me."
He sounded so bleak, as though he really was lonely and unloved. Gina bit her lip but the words came anyway. "Do you want me to love you, Peter?"
He turned his head toward her then and opened his eyes. For a second she thought she saw a flicker of—yearning? but it was replaced by a veiled scrutiny before she could be sure. "You know what I want," he said impatiently, "I want you."
Gina tried to ignore the hurt and told herself that she deserved it. She should have known better than to ask that question. He didn't want her love, only her body.
She shifted uncomfortably and changed the subject. "Have you had lunch?"
He took a drink of his whiskey-flavored soda. "No."
"Did you eat breakfast?"
"I didn't feel like eating," he said. "I had a drink instead."
She frowned. "How about dinner last night?"
"No Mama," he mimicked, "I didn't have my spinach last night either. What difference does it make? Who appointed you my keeper?"
"Lilly did," she snapped, "and it will make a big difference if you don't want to be violently ill very shortly."
He groaned. "I suspect that I will be anyway so why bother to eat? It'll just make it that much worse when it happens."
She felt a wave of sympathy tinged with annoyance as she got up and walked over to stand in front of him. "Come to the kitchen with me and I'll fix you a sandwich."
She put out her hand to help him up, but when he took it he gave a tug and she landed in his lap instead. He gripped her tightly so she couldn't slip away from him as he said, "Why should you cook for me when I pay a housekeeper to do that?"
Gina had been afraid this would happen, but now that it had she didn't have the strength to resist. Instead she put her arms around his neck and curled up against him. His briskly unshaven face was rough against hers and he smelled of whiskey but she didn't care about that as she murmured, "I want to cook for you because drinking on an empty stomach can make you awfully sick."
He pressed her closer. "Would you care if it did, Gina?"
"Of course I would," she murmured against his throat. "After you've eaten you should lie down and sleep, then you'll feel better."
His hand brushed lightly against the side of her breast and she could feel her response deep inside. "If I do will you lie down with me?" he asked.
She wanted to say yes so badly that she had to clamp her jaws together. Why was she being so stubborn about this? If she wanted to make love with him this much, why didn't she? He was certainly willing. It wasn't as if she was too young to know what she was getting into. At twenty-five she was long past due to lose her virginity. Still she couldn't give in. She had to have some shred of hope that Peter could love her again before she committed herself to him in that way.
She tipped her head and looked up at him. "Is that all you ever think of?" she complained.
He grinned. "Honey, it's almost impossible to think of anything else with you wiggling around on my lap."
His suggestive remark made her intimately aware of his arousal, and her own body responded wildly. Unable to sit still she squirmed against him, and with a low moan his mouth descended on hers, ravishing its willing sweetness. Her arms tightened, holding him close, as heat surged through her, melting her resistance. He wanted her and she wanted him and that's all that mattered: she'd worry about tomorrow when it came.
Peter broke off the kiss and lay his cheek against hers. It was then that Gina realized something was wrong. His skin was cool and damp with a fine film of perspiration. "Peter," she murmured, "are you all right?"
He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "No," he breathed. "My stomach, it's churning. I'm afraid…"
He stood up suddenly, dumping her on the sofa beside where they'd been sitting. "Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry…"
He stumbled from the room and hurried down the hall toward the bathroom.
Chapter Ten
After summoning Lilly to check on Peter and make sure he was all right, Gina went into the kitchen and, with the aid of Mrs. Webster, heated up the remains of the chicken and rice casserole that had been prepared for lunch. When Peter joined her half an hour later he had shaved, showered and changed into light blue slacks and a matching blue print shirt. The effect was nothing short of devastating to Gina's already short-circuited emotions. With his blue eyes, blond hair and slender but powerful physique he radiated enough sex appeal to start a stampede, but it was his vulnerability that tugged at Gina. The shamed look in his eyes and the lines around his mouth that revealed a still queasy stomach.
The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a tentative smile as he said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to make such a fool of myself back there."
Her heart was doing odd little pit-a-pats that made her voice stumble. "Do—do you feel better now?"
"Yes," he said, watching her. "I always feel better when you're around."
She looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice the effect he was having on her. "Sit down at the table and I'll bring your lunch," she said and began dishing up the chicken and rice. She added an individual molded fruit salad on a bed of lettuce and poured him a cup of coffee.
He eyed the plate of food and pressed his hand against his stomach as he said, "I don't know, honey, I—"
She was standing next to him and squeezed his shoulder gently. "Just try it. You don't need to eat any more than you think your stomach can handle."
He moved his hand to cover hers on his shoulder. "Gina," he said thickly. "Come here. Sit on my lap again."
She was tempted almost beyond endurance but she knew that would be folly. Instead she drew her hand from under his and laughed shakily. "If I did that you wouldn't eat and then you'd be sick again."
"It would be worth it," he murmured.
"Oh, Peter," she groaned and reached out to cradle his head between her breasts. He clasped her around the waist and relaxed against her as she gently stroked his face and hair. "What am I going to do with you?"
He rubbed his cheek against the softness of her and his voice was unsteady as he said, "Touch me, hold me, the way you're doing now. I need your loving tenderness, sweetheart. I became addicted to it seven year
s ago and these long years without it have been agony."
His actions and his words were tearing her apart. How could she be sensible when her whole being screamed for surrender? Peter had admitted that he wanted her, needed her, was not always able to function without her. Was it really so important that he love her too? Didn't she love enough for both of them?
She leaned down and kissed the top of his clean, shampoo-scented head. "Give me a little time, love. I can't think straight when I'm around you. I never could. You touch me and I melt. We both know that, I was never any good at hiding it, but I can't let you push me into making a decision I'll regret later. I don't think physical attraction, even a passion as strong as ours, is enough on which to base a marriage."
She moved then and turned slightly so she could sit on his lap as he'd asked her to. For long moments they sat clasped in each other's arms, wordlessly glorying in the intimate body contact that they both so greatly desired.
Finally Gina stirred and raised her face to his. "Kiss me, and then eat your lunch before it gets cold."
He grinned and whispered, "Yes ma'am," as his mouth covered hers. It was a sweet and gentle kiss, very much like the first one he had ever given her so many years ago. He cradled her close as his lips caressed hers with a passion that he kept carefully banked and a hunger that he could not contain.
They broke it off reluctantly and Gina stroked his cheek as she whispered, "Oh, Peter, I did love you so."
His gaze held hers. "Did?" he asked.
She closed her eyes to shut out the pleading so visible in his. "I committed myself to you once," she said tightly, "and you decided you didn't want me. I'm not prepared to do that again."
She slid off his lap and strove for lightness. "Come on now and eat your lunch while it's still edible."
He didn't argue and Gina poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table with him as he ate, slowly at first but then with more relish.
They were laughing over something Peter had said that came out backward, an indication that his reflexes were still slowed from all the Scotch, when his mother walked in the kitchen. She gave Gina a chilling glance then focused on Peter. "Peter, my dear," she began in her most effective "concerned mother" voice, "you shouldn't be eating so soon after being ill."
Her gaze shifted to Gina and hardened. "Virginia, I can't imagine what you're thinking of forcing him to eat when you know it will just upset him again."
Gina tensed, prepared to defend herself but Peter was quicker. "I'm feeling much better now, Mother, and Gina most certainly has not forced me to eat."
He reached over and took Gina's hand. "Now, if you'll excuse us we have a lot to talk over and would like to be alone. I'm sure you can find something to do in another part of the house."
For a moment Bertha looked shocked, then her pale face seemed to fall accentuating wrinkles that hadn't been obvious before. Her round fleshy chin trembled and her light blue eyes filled with tears. She aged before their eyes as she sniffed. "I see. Because I've dared to criticize your paramour—"
"My wife, Mother," Peter said between clenched teeth.
Bertha continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I'm being banished to my room like a naughty child. You used to seek my advice, but now you have no use for a mother who loves you."
She paused on a sob and it occurred to Gina that she was witnessing one of Bertha's better performances. It was true what Lilly had said about her mother knowing exactly when to cry, and Bertha was wringing the tears that trickled down her puffy cheeks for all they were worth.
Lilly had been wrong about one thing, though. Peter was not as immune as she had indicated. His hand tightened painfully on Gina's and a muscle twitched in his jaw as his mother continued her tirade. "Fortunately I'm getting old. I won't be around much longer to meddle in your affairs but there's one thing you might consider. If I'm gone who will you go to for comfort the next time this little gold-digging hussy walks out on you?"
"Mother!" Peter roared and jumped up, then leaned heavily on the table for support as a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him.
Gina pushed back her chair and was on her feet immediately. She put an arm around Peter to steady him and glared at Bertha. "Mrs. Van Housen," she began with icy determination. "If you don't shut up and get out of here right now, I'm personally going to escort you to your room."
The two women locked eyes in silent battle, and it was Bertha who finally turned away and walked out of the kitchen.
Gina eased Peter back in his chair and knelt down beside him. She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead, now damp with perspiration. "Are you all right, darling?" she asked anxiously.
The warmth that flooded his eyes alerted her to her inadvertent use of the endearment, but all he said was, "Just give me a few minutes, I'll be O.K."
He leaned back in the chair and she rose and started cleaning up the dirty dishes. She discovered that she was shaking from the unexpected encounter with Peter's overbearing mother. It was easy to dislike Bertha and yet Gina couldn't altogether blame the older woman. Bertha had been against her son's involvement with a little "commoner," but when she realized that Peter was intent on marriage she'd made an attempt to welcome Gina into the family only to have to stand by later and watch her son's anguish when his bride proved, at least to the eyes of the family, to be an unfaithful money-grabber. Gina knew she would have felt the same had it been her son who was involved.
She sighed. It was all such a tangled web and they couldn't go on this way. The whole situation was getting out of control and had to be resolved, now. Either she must live with Peter who desired her but did not love her in a marriage that would probably not endure once the passion had been satisfied, or she must finally make him understand that she wanted the marriage terminated immediately.
She glanced anxiously over at him. He was slumped in his chair and looked pale and exhausted. He was temporarily vulnerable now, but by tomorrow he'd be strong and invincible again. Peter was a fighter, a leader, a man sufficient unto himself, and she suspected that he wasn't above using some of the tricks his mother found so valuable in getting her own way.
Is that what he was doing to her now? Gina wondered. Had she been set up? Was his drinking a deliberate ploy to gain her sympathy and make her even more susceptible to him? She shook her head. No, that was unlikely. There was no doubt but that the drinking had made him violently ill, and she couldn't believe that he'd deliberately bring that on himself. He couldn't want her that badly! It was more likely that it had started as a temper tantrum because she'd dared to resist him and then had gotten out of hand.
Peter looked up and caught her watching him, then frowned when he saw what she was doing. "Gina, you don't have to wash dishes. We have a housekeeper for that."
She grinned. "I know. Guess I'm just a compulsive tidier, but I can't see any reason to leave these for Mrs. Webster when I'm standing around doing nothing. Besides, it's a joy to work in this kitchen, it's so clean and shiny and well-organized."
"It's your kitchen, sweetheart," he said softly, "You can do anything in it you want to. But I can think of a much more interesting diversion than washing dirty dishes." He winked suggestively.
"Peter Van Housen!" Gina laughed. "You have a one-track mind. Besides," she teased, "didn't anyone ever tell you that the diversion you have in mind is better performed in the bedroom with the door shut?"
"I've been trying for weeks to get you behind the closed door of a bedroom," he said tersely, all humor gone. "I'm at the point where I'll take it anywhere I can get it."
Gina sobered quickly and realized she'd asked for that. It had not only been a stupid way to tease him, it had also been cruel. He wasn't feeling well enough for bright repartee at the moment.
She dried her hands and went over to stand beside him. "I'm sorry, Peter," she apologized, "that was a thoughtless thing to say. You still look pretty rocky. I really do think you should go upstairs and take a nap."
He looked up at
her. "I don't suppose it will do any good to ask you to take a nap with me?"
She shook her head. "No."
He let out his breath and pushed himself off the chair. He stood but reached out to hold onto Gina as the dizziness returned. "Sorry," he muttered, "but I'm afraid you're going to have to help me upstairs."
She put her arm around his waist and gave him the support he needed to negotiate the long hall between the library and the living room, past the family room, Peter's office and a bathroom and up the wide rustic stairway at the end.
At the top of the stairs Gina paused and Peter looked at her quizzically until he remembered. "That's right, you haven't been up here before, have you? I never did give you the grand tour of the house."
He had his arm around her shoulders and hers was around his waist. The feel of his tall sturdy body pressing hip to hip and thigh to thigh with hers was rapidly melting her bones and she knew if they stood together like that much longer, she'd go to bed with him whether he asked her again or not.
"I'll tour your house another time," she said crisply. "For now just tell me where your bedroom is."
He grinned. "Yes ma'am, happy to oblige," he said as he hugged her closer to him and turned to the left. "It's the first door down the hall."
He didn't let loose of her as they walked through the door, and her eyes widened as she surveyed the beautifully decorated room. It was huge, big enough for two rooms, with a fireplace at one end that was a continuation of the stone fireplace in the rooms directly below. The outside wall was a replica of the glass wall in the living room and it also opened onto a redwood deck. The sheer eggshell curtains that covered the glass did little to obstruct the sweeping view of the ocean, only this time she could see even further because of the higher vantage point.
The room was furnished in dark reddish-brown cherry wood; the focal piece was a king-size bed covered with a quilted puff satin spread in a swirl design ranging from navy to sky blue with tiny streaks of scarlet and cream for accent. Several tables and chests, including a very feminine dressing table with a lighted mirror, were grouped around the bed, and at the other end of the room a blue velvet sofa and two upholstered chairs, one scarlet and one cream, faced the fireplace.
If Ever I Loved You Page 12
