Authors: Kate Vale
Gillian
started to skip downstairs then forced herself to slow down and walk sedately into the living room. She sat down in her favorite chair too nervous to read a magazine, too distracted to watch television. Not that she even knew what was on in the late afternoon. She wandered into her office and spied a paint brush, still coated with yellow paint, discarded on the floor. She must have knocked it off the easel when she’d dashed out the door after Ursula’s call. Careful to avoid contact of the brush with her skirt, she took it into the kitchen and held it under the water to remove the color from the bristles.
The doorbell chimed. The brush tumbled into the sink as Gillian’s pulse
slammed into high gear.
Calm. I have to remain calm, like I’m not ready to jump out of my skin or into his arms before tearing his clothes off.
A giggle erupted that she was thinking such thoughts.
She heard a man’s voice, but it wasn’t Matt’s.
Quinn.
Oh, no.
A woman’s voice.
Bianca.
Gillian’s worst nightmare come true. She walked slowly to the door and opened it, hoping she looked happily surprised to see them.
“
Well, hello, you two. What brings you here?”
Quinn
stared at her for a moment. “Going somewhere, Mom? You look all dressed up.”
“Just because I’m not in my jeans and sweatshirt, with paint on my face, doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere.” But she’d clipped her words. Was
she giving herself away?
Bianca was staring at
Gillian’s feet. “Mother.” She’d started using that term after returning from the honeymoon. Formal but loving. Gillian liked that. Now, however, it sounded appraising as Bianca’s gaze took in not only her shoes but her skirt and silk blouse. Her daughter-in-law was clearly trying to figure out what was going on. But she didn’t mention Gillian’s shoes and Bianca was really into shoes. Instead, she observed quietly, “That’s a pretty blouse.”
Gillian nodded. “I haven’t worn it in a while
, not since I stopped working. With the summer temps, I decided it would be cool enough.” She cast a quick sidelong glance in Bianca’s direction before heading for the kitchen.
“Would the two of you like something to drink? Eat?”
“Nothing for me. We came over to apologize.” Quinn plopped into his favorite spot on the couch, looking as if he planned to stay the night. “About the trust.”
“We shouldn’t have questioned your intent,” Bianca added. “
Actually, I suggested we talk to you first, before inquiring of your advisor. But Quinn insisted we see him.”
At the mention of
Matt’s title, Gillian’s pulse began an erratic trot that quickly picked up speed.
Down, girl. He isn’t even here yet.
As if his imminent arrival was going to slow down her pulse.
If
he came over. Hadn’t he said he’d call her first?
“Yes, well, I’m glad you came to your senses about that. I do have one thing to add, Quinn.
You, too, Bianca.”
Stereophonically,
they asked, “What?”
“Just because I’ve designated your children as recipients of some of my estate doesn’t mean I’m pushing you to have children. That is, before you’re ready. I just wanted to be prepared should that happen.” She paused and picked at a miniscule lint
ball that clung to her dark blue skirt. “Knowing you got pregnant before. Even though it was ectopic.”
Quinn smiled.
Bianca’s grin was less certain. “We’ll be sure to tell you if we … when we are pregnant again.”
“I know you will
, dear.” She was about to say something else when the doorbell rang again.
“Are you expecting company?” Quinn asked.
He stood up.
I do hope so. Or maybe not while they’re here.
“Never mind, Quinn, I’ll get it.” Gillian headed for the front door, her throat dry, her heart dum-dumming against her ribs.
She opened the door. “Matt.”
Her voice resembled a strangled frog. She stepped aside.
He
was wearing a polo shirt and a pair of sharply-creased chinos. He stood there, his sunglasses in one hand. “You look nice.” He cleared his throat before adding, “Beautiful, actually.” He motioned in the direction of the driveway. “Company?”
“Just Quinn and Bianca. Come
in.”
He looked less than happy about her other visitors, but he squared his shoulders and stepped inside. In a voice
so low she was certain only she could hear it, he murmured, “Perhaps I should come back later.”
She shook her head
and replied, loudly. “They were just leaving.”
Please, God.
She reached for Matt’s arm, touched it and drew back as if burned.
Matt followed her into the living room and acknowledged her other guests with a polite nod.
Gillian cleared her throat.
“Quinn? Bianca? Look who’s here! I guess you’ll be going now?” Would they take the hint and leave?
Her son and daughter-in-law seemed to move in slow motion, glancing
first at her and then at Matt and back again, questions in their eyes as they ambled too slowly in the general direction of the front door. Questions she had no intention of answering.
Go! Just go!
“We’ll call you,” Bianca said. She grasped Quinn’s hand and stepped outside. “Come on, honey. I just remembered something.”
When Quinn opened his mouth and seemed to hesitate, Bianca pulled on his hand.
“I’ll wait for your call,” Gillian assured her, pasting a smile on her face, hoping she looked relaxed when she felt anything but.
She shut the door and drew a deep breath.
Matt was standing
a few feet from her, too far for her to grab and wrestle him to the floor. He looked bemused. Then he took two steps toward her. That was all the encouragement she needed. She opened her arms to him and he caught her against his chest.
“Where were we?” he asked before his mouth descended on hers, seeming
ly intent on taking up where they’d left off in his office.
Finally
they released each other with reluctance, as if drugged with passion.
“It’s a bit early for dinner, but could we go out, together, get some food?”
he asked.
The way he was looking at
her, his gaze singeing every cell, gave her the impression he wanted to eat her, which turned her brain to similar thoughts of her own. She saw herself touching him, kissing him, licking him—for heaven’s sake!—everywhere. “Food?” she finally asked, huskily. “Oh. Yes. We could do that.”
“Or we could order in.” He must have read her
feeble brain waves.
The next several minutes were given over to
deciding which take-out place to call and what to order. Fortunately, the ordinariness of their decisions slowed Gillian’s racing pulse to a speed where her voice resumed its normal range, her words suggesting she could still put more than a couple of words together into a coherent sentence.
Matt eased into the overstuffed chair in the living room while they waited for the food to arrive. “I’ve never done that before—in the office—with a client.” He stopped talking and his gaze settle
d on her breasts.
Gillian felt
her nipples thrusting themselves forward in Matt’s direction, seeking his attention.
Intent on removing that
business barrier from his mind, she said, “But I’m not your client anymore, now that the trust is written. Right?” No way did she want anything to stop him from doing what he wanted with her, from her doing him, to quote Lauren. At the thought, her cheeks heated.
The doorbell rang
for the third time in an hour. She trotted to the door, and took the food containers from the deliveryman. She took a step away from the door and Matt’s hand pressed lightly against her back. “I’ll take care of this.” He handed a bill to the young man on the porch. “Keep the change,” and shut the door.
For the next half hour, they ate in her smallish kitchen
, unable to look away from each other. The place where she’d eaten so many meals with Quinn over the years, her tired kitchen that so badly needed updating. It now seemed to buzz expectantly in her guest’s presence.
Matt set down his coffee cup. “Now that we’ve eaten, we need to talk.”
“About what?” Her throat tightened again. Was he going to say he didn’t want to see her again, giving the lie to what she suspected he felt for her, after those kisses, those clutchings, the way he’d been staring at her?
“Us.”
Her head bobbed. “Okay.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m rushing things,
since it hasn’t been that long since my wife died, but I can’t get you out of my head.”
“Me,
either.”
With you. In bed.
Did I say that out loud? Oh. My. God.
“
What do you think we should do about … what we’ve been thinking, feeling?”
Gillian
slowly scanned Matt’s masculine beauty from his feet up his long legs, past the bulge at his zipper—had she caused that evidence he might be lusting after her?—past his chest to his face and those soft gray eyes that seemed to know what she was thinking before she said it.
It was time.
Decision time, but did she dare? Lauren said Gillian needed to take charge of her life. Quinn said the same, although the look he’d given her when Bianca hauled him out the door implied he harbored misgivings about the quality of his mother’s decision-making. She shook her head to dislodge those thoughts.
Big D time.
She stood up and held out a hand. “Come with me.”
Matt rose from his chair, adjusting his slacks as he did so.
She threw the deadbolt into position as she passed the front door. “We’re going upstairs.”
The hand she’d been holding pulled away. “
What? Are you sure?”
“Aren’t you?” she replied. “Or don’t
you want … ”
“I
’ve never wanted anything so much,” he said before reaching for her hand again.
Thankful she’d placed fresh sheets on the bed that morning, Gillian turned to face Matt as she stood next to the bed
, aware of how long it had been since a man had stood in her bedroom.
“I came prepared, in case you’re wondering
.” He pulled several silver packets from his pants pocket, two of which fell onto the floor.
“
Do you always prepare for every occasion?”
“
Let’s just say I had high hopes.” He chuckled.
She smiled.
“I like a man who plans ahead.” She picked up the packets, handed them to him and stepped out of her shoes, her pulse climbing.
Matt cupped her face in his hands. “I have a feeling
… you …” He leaned down and kissed her.
She reached for his waist and began to pull at his shirt.
He took the hint and shed it in seconds.
She sighed at the look of him, so masculine in a room that had become more feminine over the years. She pulled her silk blouse over her head and tossed it onto the chair as she shimmied out of her skirt.
His breath seemed to catch in his throat as she stood before him in nothing but her lingerie. Her curves were more pronounced than they’d been before Quinn’s birth, even after. She had bulges that had been nonexistent in her twenties, even into her thirties. Would he notice?
Matt pulled her close and halted her mind-questions with a kiss that took her breath away.
Long after the sun had descended
in the summer sky, Gillian rolled onto her side to gaze at Matt, sated with the love they’d shared, thrilled that he seemed as taken with her as she was with him. “About that do-over you mentioned in your office.”
“Hmm. I think we did, don’t you?”
“It was better than any apology.”
“Gillian.” His voice had that wonderful rich velvety sound he’d repeated so many times since they’d stripped
off their clothes, since he’d picked her up and deposited her on the bed.
“Yes?”
“The bar association meets monthly for dinner. Will you come with me as my guest?”
She giggled. “
Are you asking me out?”
“
Yes,” he rumbled. “Or, if you’d prefer, we could have dinner somewhere else. Just the two of us.”
“
Are you hungry now? Again? We could heat up what was left … from earlier.” She giggled when her stomach rumbled. She started to slide her feet out from under the covers.
His arm pulled her close again.
“What I’m hungry for is you.” His cheeks seemed to color slightly as he added, “We kind of got things turned upside down.”
Was he having second thoughts about her? She imagined her life without him, how cold her bed would be
after having tasted how skillful a lover he was, how quiet her solitary dinners would be without him to look at, how much time she would have to fill, knowing his only connection to her was her pictures on his wall, that trust he’d written for her. Had she been fooling herself, reading into his actions, that all he’d felt was lust, and not the love she wanted to share with him? That she wanted him in her life, now and forever?