Authors: Diana Duncan
A flush crept up her neck, darkened her cheeks. She planted both hands on his chest and shoved. He backed up, giving her space.
"I told you I didn't want your pity. You can count this as your good deed for the day, Mr. Boy Scout wannabe."
He touched her cheek, but she jerked away, her eyes tormented. His throat closed up, making it tough to speak. "I kissed you because I wanted to, not because I felt sorry for you."
"Right." Her voice tightened. "You love to tease and play. Until things get serious. You never really wanted me. Everything you've done from day one, kissing me, touching me, was all a joke. Nothing but a game." She lunged for the steps.
He caught her arm and turned her to face him. "This is not a game, Tessa. We're not on the same page here. I refuse to take advantage of you when you're hurting. You'd wake up tomorrow with major regrets, and hate me. Worse, you'd hate yourself."
"Amazing. You even manage to sound sincere."
Gabe's jaw tightened. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. I'm not the type of woman men can love. Not the type they desire. I know it, and you know it."
The ache in his groin begged to disagree. Without stopping to think, he grabbed her hand and pressed her palm to his shorts. "Then how come I'm hard enough to rivet steel crossbeams?"
She gulped and yanked her hand away, backing to the wall.
Oh, smooth move, Bubba
. He sucked in another deep breath. "That was crude and out of line. I'm sorry."
Eyes wide, she stared up at him. "So you find me attractive?"
He snorted. "Do you see anybody else in this tub?" He gave her a shaky grin. "Damn, Houdini, you're tough on a guy's ego. You've been under me twice before, you must have noticed my, uh, interest. A great deal of interest."
She shook her head. "Interest, huh?" A slow smile spread across her lips, until she grinned from ear to ear. "And I wasn't even trying. Imagine."
Laughter bubbled in his chest. "God help me if you ever decide to try. I might not survive."
She moved close to him again and looked up, her teeth worrying her lower lip. "I owe you an apology. You're right. Even though calling off the wedding is for the best, I am upset and tried to push you into making love to me for all the wrong reasons. Thank you for stopping."
His glance roamed over the wet, warm, and willing woman only a hand's reach away. Two years ago, the president had pinned a Congressional Medal of Honor on his uniform for
conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty, in a war-torn hell half a world away
. Gabe hadn't felt as if he'd deserved the honor then. But he'd accept ten medals for what he'd managed two minutes ago.
"You handled a tough situation today with guts and class. You can be proud of yourself." He cupped her chin in his hand. "You deserve a man who recognizes how special you are. And who will put you first in his life. You deserve the best."
She smiled up at him. "You are a nice guy."
He managed a laugh, but it rang hollow. If only she knew. "Don't bet your life on it, honey. Or your virtue."
Her smile broadened. "I just did."
A very long, very cold shower and another aching, sleepless night loomed in his immediate future.
That's what he got for pretending to be a nice guy.
Chapter 12
A
s they climbed into the Pinto to drive to work the next morning, Tessa avoided looking Gabe in the eye. The way she'd thrown herself at him in the hot tub last night… She groaned.
Her cheeks heated at the memory of Gabe's impressive arousal pulsing under her palm. Dale had always been physically restrained, in fact so had
she.
Now she knew the lack of fire was because they shared nothing more than friendship. Tessa frowned. Then why did she have such an explosive response to Gabe? She'd always believed her heart would have to be involved for her body to respond.
Horror prickled over her skin. Did that mean she cared for him? She knew men were different; they could react merely to the female body. Maybe women and men were more alike than she'd realized. Maybe the chemistry between her and Gabe was merely lust.
She prayed it was only lust. Because if she thought her dreams were smashed to pieces now, falling in love with Gabe would blow her life to smithereens. She'd hand him her heart and he'd retreat, leaving her with an empty, bleeding hole in her chest.
"Music?" Gabe's question interrupted her gloomy thoughts.
She opened his CD case and pulled out a double volume. "Hey! Elvis wasn't here before."
"I bought it yesterday when you were trying on the dress." He grinned. "I noticed you have a fondness for The King."
Warmed by his thoughtfulness, she slipped the CD into the player and Elvis's smooth, deep voice flowed out like warm honey.
"You a fan of that pelvis action?"
"That's not why I like him," she huffed.
"Enlighten me."
Why not? It was better than sitting here worrying. "I've loved music all my life. My first memory is sitting on my dad's lap while he pounded out Elvis tunes on his beat-up, secondhand piano." She smiled as warm memories blanketed her. "He'd explain the keys and the notes. The very first song Dad taught me to play was 'Love Me Tender.' I was four."
He whistled. "You could play that young?"
"I have a gift called perfect pitch. I can hear a song and duplicate it." She uttered a hollow laugh. "My ability drove my mother crazy. She always wanted musical talent in order to boost her acting career, but she has a tin ear."
"Your mom's an actress? Would I know her?"
"You watch the soaps? Vivienne has been on
Light
Of The
World
for fifteen years." She shrugged. "You're probably more familiar with my brother, Jules Martin."
His brows
rose
a fraction. "The
Wimbledon
champion three years running? That Jules Martin?"
"That's the one. He and Vivienne use professional names. I kept Dad's."
"I take it you're not close to your family."
"She sent me to boarding school when I was six, after the near-drowning. I saw her once a year on parents' day, with a publicity photographer in tow. When the photographs appeared I'd always been replaced by a child model. Vivienne said it was to protect me. But—" She shook her head. "Never mind."
He glanced at her, his expression tender. "No, tell me."
Maybe the cold, hard truth would jolt them back to reality and stop this ridiculous attraction simmering between them. "I was a terribly ugly child. If my wide mouth and odd-colored eyes weren't bad enough, I wore railroad track braces. Once puberty kicked in, I had stringy hair and a face like a pepperoni pizza. And I was fat. Vivienne is a lovely woman, and extremely image-conscious."
He swore. "She sounds coldhearted and selfish. For the record, you happen to be a very beautiful woman."
"That's nice of you, but I've accepted the truth. I didn't inherit any of my mother's attributes. I look more like my dad."
"Maybe that's the problem."
"What do you mean?"
"Your mom may have projected ambivalent feelings about him onto you. Or sick as it sounds, some women view all other women, even their daughters, as competition. You and your dad were pretty tight. Maybe she was jealous."
Intrigued by his insight, she paused, considering. "That never occurred to me. But your theory explains a lot. I haven't even seen Vivienne since I graduated. Whenever I try to call, her publicist says she isn't available."
"Vivienne lost the most. She missed out on knowing you. Consider yourself well-rid of her." He touched her shoulder reassuringly. "Compared to that, I had it easy. No mother at all is better than a cold, unfeeling
bitch
."
The memory of his first, tender kiss in the boat shimmered in her thoughts. She balled her tingling hand into a fist. "You mentioned a foster mom. What happened to your parents?"
A muscle jumped in his cheek. "Never mind. Where's your dad?"
"He's—he died when I was five."
His warm, compassionate gaze held hers for a moment before he returned his attention to the road. "Sorry, honey. I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."
"I love remembering him. He was wonderful. The year before he died, Vivienne bought him a new piano. It wasn't fancy by any means, but Dad was ecstatic. He polished it every day. I wanted to show how much I loved him, so I found a permanent marker, crawled under the keyboard and traced my hand. Then I drew a heart beside my handprint, right above where the bench slides in. I figured he'd see it when he polished, and think of me."
His lips quirked. "I'll bet that thrilled him."
"He was at work, waiting tables while he tried to get his music career started, so Vivienne saw my handiwork first. She was furious. She spanked me with a wooden spoon and sent me to my room without dinner. I sobbed myself to sleep."
Gabe's stormy green eyes flashed. "What happened when your father found out?"
"He carried me to the piano and played 'Love Me Tender,' then asked why I'd done it. When I explained, his eyes filled with tears, and I was scared I'd upset him, but you know what he did? He wrote our initials inside the heart and traced his hand on the other side of it. Dad said whenever he looked at our
handprints,
he'd remember how much his little girl meant to him." Her eyes brimmed with moisture, and she blinked rapidly.
"Not long afterward, Mom divorced him to live with an actor. Back then, mothers got custody, whether they deserved it or not. Six months later, Dad died. The doctor said it was pneumonia, but Dad's heart was broken. He'd lost the will to live. He died because Vivienne couldn't control her libido."
Gabe muttered something that sounded like, "That explains a lot."
"What?"
"Nothing."
She forced her voice to remain steady. "He left me the piano, but Vivienne gave it to charity. I haven't been able to play 'Love Me Tender' since. But nothing can steal my memories. When I'm upset or scared, I hum an Elvis tune, and I feel Dad beside me."
She looked at Gabe's rigid profile as he stared out the windshield, then his white-knuckled hands clutching the wheel. "I
apologize,
I shouldn't have rattled on like that."
"It's okay." His voice sounded husky. "I appreciate you sharing your childhood."
"Well, I've bared my sordid past. What about you?"
He frowned. "No time to get into that now, here's the courthouse. I'll follow you to the bank, like always."
She walked up the block. Gabe invariably retreated when she got too personal. His childhood must have been a nightmare, too. Someone had hurt him. Badly. Her steps faltered. Was that it, literally? Did memory of abuse make him cry out in the night, and cause the hidden pain in his eyes? Her heart turned over. No wonder he had a problem with trust.
Her thoughts whirling, she unlocked the door and punched in the alarm code.
Less than a minute later, Gabe arrived. His eyes narrowed behind the thick glasses of his disguise. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
He scowled. "Like I'm a shivering stray puppy you want to pat on the head."
She lowered her lashes, hiding her turbulent emotions from his too-discerning gaze. "Mr. Bond, I think your vivid imagination is running amok again. Let's get to work."
Still scowling, he ambled down the hall. She entered her office and sat at her desk to sort memos, but her mind wasn't on the task. How could she help Gabe?
Could
she help him? Was there a way to heal the wounds he tried so hard to hide? She looked up as he entered carrying a steaming mug.
"Howdy
ma'am,
brought you a cup of Earl Grey." He perched on the corner of her desk and handed her the mug.
She smiled. "Trying to kiss up to the boss?"
He beamed a naughty grin. "Nah. If I wanted to do that, I'd get under the desk."
Molten lava flooded her veins, and she jerked her gaze away from his sparkling eyes. A lesson well learned. She couldn't afford to get involved, even on a "just friends" basis. Things too easily got out of hand between them. She'd better keep her distance, let him do his job and leave.
Seeking a distraction, her attention snagged on a pile of ink-spattered papers. "Speaking of that incident, you either owe
Trask
a new suit or a cleaning bill. I'm surprised he didn't fire me." She shook her head. "Blue ink all over his beige suit. What a mess." She stared at the papers, frowning. "Something…" She concentrated on the dried silvery-blue puddles. "Blue ink."
"Yeah? So, it's blue."
Tessa looked up at him. "'Black pens only' is one of
Trask's
unbreakable rules. Black ink looks more professional and photocopies better." She touched the dried ink. "And this isn't even regular
blue,
it's a silvery-blue. Where did I get that pen?" She tapped her chin, trying to remember. "I know! The day I showed you the vault. I logged out and stuck the pen in my pocket. I didn't register the color because I was … distracted."