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It wasn’t until he was on the porch, the door closed behind him that he remembered he’d planned to apologize to Gabby again.
He turned, raising his hand to knock, but lowered it without doing so. The least he could do was apologize in private, save Gabby a rehashing of what had obviously been an embarrassing moment.
He’d have to find a few minutes alone with her at work tomorrow. No doubt she’d find some way to give him a hard time. But he’d do the right thing because, contrary to what she obviously believed, he wasn’t a bad guy.
IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT BY THE time Gabby let herself into her apartment. She threw her bag onto the couch and checked her answering machine—nothing—then walked to her bedroom and into the ensuite.
Flicking on the light, she gave herself a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness before beginning her nightly ritual. First, she washed her face, then patted it dry and smoothed a lightly scented moisturizer onto her face, neck and shoulders. She switched to almond-scented body lotion for her arms, hands and legs, working it in with long, smooth strokes.
At least you didn’t give up everything. Apparently, you still care if your skin is nice.
Her hands stilled on her calf. Somehow, she’d managed to keep a lid on her emotions. But now she was in the safety of her own home and it was time to come clean with herself.
More than time—about four years overdue, in fact.
She straightened, and for the second time that night she stared at her own image in the mirror, trying to understand herself.
Was she still in love with Tyler? Was that what all this was about? Had she been kidding herself for years when all along she’d been holding a candle, pining, hoping?
Dear God. Please don’t let me be that woman. Please don’t let me be that pathetic.
She didn’t want it to be true. But the facts were pretty damned convincing. She’d gone on exactly one date since she’d broken up with Tyler. One date in four years. And it wasn’t through lack of invitations, either. She’d had her share of admirers in those first few years of being single again. She couldn’t remember what excuses she’d come up with for not accepting any of the offers to see a movie or go out for dinner. She simply hadn’t been interested, and eventually the offers had dried up.
If she was being honest, she’d have to admit she hadn’t really noticed or cared. She’d been too busy organizing Tyler’s business—whipping it into shape when she first came on board then doing all she could to help lift him to the next level in subsequent years. Too busy recasting herself as Tyler’s faithful sidekick, the sexless, tireless little buddy who never let him down.
What did you think was going to happen—that he’d admire your skill with a balance sheet so much that he’d finally fall all the way in love with you?
Because, of course, Tyler had never loved her the way she’d loved him.
It still hurt, even after all these years. She turned her back on her reflection, unwilling to play witness to her own unhappiness. Which pretty much answered the big question, didn’t it?
She brushed her teeth, staring at the tile wall. Once she was finished, she walked into the bedroom and stripped to her underwear. Kicking her clothes into the corner, she crawled beneath the covers.
The sheets were cool against her skin and she shivered as she waited for them to warm, legs drawn up, arms pulled tightly to her chest.
On nights such as these, she used to make Tyler spoon her from behind, the heat of his body like a furnace against her back. She’d loved feeling his warm breath on the nape of her neck, loved having one of his strong arms wrapped around her. Tyler had always moved in his sleep, however—he’d liked to spread out, to have his own space. Nine times out of ten she’d woken to find their positions reversed, him curling away from her while she clung to his back, her body molded to his.
Chasing him, needing him, even in her sleep.
She made a distressed sound and burrowed deeper into the pillow. It didn’t stop the tears from coming. Four years’ worth, pushed down deep.
The truth was, she’d never allowed herself to grieve for Tyler. She’d been too busy being tough. Moving on. Assuring him there were no hard feelings and that they’d still be a part of each other’s lives. She’d convinced herself that she’d done all her grieving beforehand, before she’d made the painful, wrenching decision to call things off between them. She’d been so sure she had it all together, that she was on top of it.
More fool her.
Her pillow was getting wet. She rolled onto her back. The sound of her sobs seemed very loud in her quiet bedroom. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes down her temples into her hair. She pressed her palms to her sternum and pushed, willing the ache to go away.
She didn’t want to still love Tyler. She didn’t want to be this weak and tragic.
Dear God, if Mom could see me now, she’d kick my backside into the middle of next week.
The thought prompted a hiccuping laugh. Gabby sniffed noisily, then sat up and wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands.
She’d been raised by a fiercely independent woman who’d prided herself on never needing anyone—men being at the very top of that list. Divorced from Gabby’s father when Gabby was only two years old and her sister, Angela, barely one, Rachel Wade had thrown herself into single motherhood like an Amazonian warrior. She’d taught herself how to change fuses, tap washers and car tires and had hammered into her daughters from the moment they were old enough to understand that they always had to stand on their own two feet and that no one could ever make them unhappy unless they allowed it.
Nice in theory, but often not so great in practice, as Gabby and her sister had discovered many times over the years.
Fortunately for Gabby, her mother was halfway around the world at present, living her dream of working and traveling through Europe.
Still, the thought of her mother was enough to make Gabby reach for the box of tissues. She blew her nose, mopped her eyes dry. Then she switched pillows and lay down and tried to go to sleep.
There wasn’t much else she could do, after all. She’d been in love before—Billy Harrison when she was seventeen, Gareth Devenish when she was in her early twenties. Neither of them had been as important in her life as Tyler was, but both experiences had taught her that there was no willing away a broken heart. She would simply have to wait the pain out.
It’s been four years. How long do you freaking want?
A good question. A scary one, too, because she’d already wasted four years longing for something she could never have.
She fell asleep late and woke early. The first thing she did was walk to her wardrobe and throw the doors open. She had to dig deep to get past jeans and yet more jeans, but after a few minutes she pulled out her black leather miniskirt and her stiletto ankle boots. A rummage in her chest of drawers produced the tight orange tank that through some mysterious trick of design managed to give her cleavage. In the shower, she shaved her legs and her armpits, washed and conditioned and exfoliated. Then she smoothed on body lotion and pulled out her make-up bag. Twenty minutes later she inspected herself in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door.
She’d always had good legs, and her backside was a nice shape, neat and round and perky. The boots and the skirt she’d chosen made the most of her two best assets, while the tank and push-up bra worked their magic upstairs.
Jon was going to eat his words when he saw her this morning. He was going to take one look at her in this outfit and realize how wrong he’d been about her. He was going to—
Gabby froze in the act of spritzing on her most expensive perfume as it occurred to her that, as well as all those other things, he was going to know that she’d done all this—the legs, the hair, the makeup, the clothes—for him. To prove something to him. Because she cared what he thought.
“Damn it.”
Annoyed with herself, Gabby stripped. Dressed only in her underwear, she pushed hangers out of the way until finally, at the back of the wardrobe, she found what she was looking for—a pair of shapeless cargo pants she kept for really dirty work. The top shelf yielded the box with her Doc Martens boots, a relic from her teen years. She was stumped for a moment with regard to the top, but then inspiration struck and she grinned. Throwing herself across the bed, she grabbed the phone from the nightstand and dialed.
“Jen, it’s Gabby. Sorry it’s so early, but I need to borrow something …”
No way was she going to let Jon think that she cared what he thought or said. No. Way.
JON WOKE BATHED IN SWEAT, HIS heart racing. It took a full five seconds to work out where he was and that he’d been dreaming.
He let out a sigh and lifted a hand to his face. His skin felt clammy and cold. Throwing back the covers, he stood and walked out of the bedroom and into the apartment’s living space. He poured coffee into a fresh filter and turned on the coffee machine.
Hard to work out what was worse—suffering broken sleep from the nightmares that had become his almost nightly companions since he’d given up drinking or waking with a thundering hangover.
This morning’s dream had been a doozy—his father storming up the hallway of their family home toward him, the thick leather belt he favored for beatings clutched in one hand. Tyler’s whimpers of fear from behind him. No sign of his mother, although Jon knew she should be there, that she should be the one standing between them and the monster bearing down on them. The almost overwhelming urge to run had gripped him. The need to abandon Tyler and run, run, run to save himself. And then, finally, he’d been hit with the dawning, horrible knowledge that there was no escape, that there was nothing he could do to save himself or his brother.
Really restful stuff. The kind of stuff that made a guy want to spring out of bed whistling a tune, ready to head out into the day to rub shoulders with his fellow man.
The carafe was full. He grabbed a cup, poured coffee, stirred in sugar. Mug in hand, he wandered over to the sliding doors that led out onto his tiny balcony. He glanced at the redbrick wall opposite, then changed his mind about going outside. The lack of view hadn’t bothered him when he’d taken the place, but the looming wall that filled every window was starting to get on his nerves.
No one’s forcing you to stay. Book a ticket, get on a plane. Go find someplace with no memories, no ties. No expectations.
It was what he’d wind up doing eventually, he was sure. But he wasn’t ready to go. Not yet.
He wasn’t sure what was holding him back. But soon enough he’d get over whatever it was, pack his meager belongings and head off to a new start somewhere.
Downing the last of his coffee, he dumped the mug in the sink and went to shower. It was early, but he might as well be at work as here.
Half an hour later, he pulled into the parking lot at T.A. Furniture Designs. Belatedly it occurred to him that he’d left the key in his jeans from yesterday—then he spotted the red car parked close to the building.
Gabby. It figured she’d be the first in. If there was an employee equivalent of teacher’s pet, she was it.
Still, it would give him a chance to apologize to her again without the risk of the guys overhearing. He’d get it out of the way, then he and Gabby could go back to pistols at ten paces or whatever it was they did whenever they were in the same room.
He locked his truck and strode to the entrance. He pressed the doorbell that had been provided for after-hours visitors and waited. When no one came after a couple of minutes, he knocked and tried the bell again.
A few seconds later the workshop door swung open and Gabby walked through. The good-natured smile on her face faded when she recognized him through the glass. His gaze took in first her T-shirt, then her baggy combat fatigues and finally her chunky punk rocker boots as she strode toward him. Lastly, he focused on her hair, which had been parted to one side and gelled into a shiny brown helmet of asexual hair.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Exactly how long do you think it takes to walk from the back room to the front door?”
His gaze dipped to the image of k.d. lang printed across her chest. “Nice T-shirt.”
He wasn’t stupid—he knew a challenge when he saw one—and he couldn’t hide the smile curving his lips a moment longer.
“What’s so funny?”
He patted her on the shoulder as he moved past her. “I’m flattered you went to so much trouble for me. I didn’t realize you cared.”
He heard her quick intake of breath.
“Please. I know you think you’re the center of the universe and God’s gift to women, but you’re not the center of my world, Jon Adamson. Maybe it’s time to get over yourself.”
He waited while she finished her little speech. Then he grabbed the price tag that was still dangling from her collar, tugging it free.
“Must have been hard to find that T-shirt on such short notice. Like I said, it’s nice to know you care.”
He dropped the tag into her hand. He’d delivered the perfect exit line and the script called for him to walk away now. But he couldn’t resist hanging around to see her reaction. Maybe it made him a little twisted, but he was starting to enjoy these sparring sessions.
She looked at the tag in her hand, then slowly raised her gaze to his. He was all set to savor his victory, but she shifted slightly and a shaft of sunlight hit her face, catching her eyes and glinting off the earrings that Tyler and Ally had given her.
He blinked.
Ally was way off base—Gabby’s eyes were far richer than the gemstones sparkling at her ears. He didn’t even have a name for the warm golden tone of her irises. Cognac? Honey? Amber? None of them seemed adequate. Set off by long, dark lashes, they were hands down, no questions asked, the most arresting, beautiful eyes he’d ever gazed into. No mineral composite dug out of the ground was ever going to do them justice.
The silence stretched between them. Jon realized he was staring, but couldn’t make himself stop.
“I suppose you think you’re pretty clever,” she said.
“No.”
For the life of him he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Then she stepped out of the sunlight and his brain came back online.
“I want to apologize,” he said. “For last night. For the whole gay/lesbian thing.”
Her mouth tightened. “You already said sorry. It was a misunderstanding. I get it.”
He looked at k.d. lang again. “Do you?”
She pulled her keys from the lock and dropped them into the pocket of her baggy pants.
“You done? Because I’ve got work to do.” She turned on her heel. He grabbed her elbow. She stilled, then narrowed those incredible eyes.
How had he not noticed them before? He must have been blind.
“I really am sorry, Gabby. I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but I didn’t mean to embarrass or hurt you last night.”
He felt her stiffen. She shook off his hand.
“I wasn’t embarrassed. And you certainly didn’t hurt me. I barely know you. Why would I care what you think of me?”
She was so damned prickly. He bet the word gracious wasn’t even in her vocabulary.
“You know, I have no idea. Just like I have no idea why I even bothered to apologize again. You go ahead and enjoy your indignation. I’m sure it’s very satisfying.” He walked away from her.
“Fine. I accept your apology,” she called after him.
“Good. Great.” He pushed through the swinging door with more verve than strictly necessary.
The door swung sharply back, cutting off anything she might have been about to say. He stood in the silent workshop for a long beat, trying to rein in his temper.
What was it about her that pissed him off so much? Even when he tried to be nice they wound up fighting. She took everything he said the wrong way, even his apologies.
He simply didn’t get it.
The door opened and Gabby entered. She didn’t look at him as she marched toward her office. He watched her straight spine, then he shrugged.
So what if she didn’t like him? He wasn’t one of those people who had to have everyone love him. He was a big boy. He could live with her animosity. It wasn’t as though it was forever, after all. A few months from now, he’d be somewhere else and she’d be nothing but a fading memory, notable only for her defensiveness and fantastic eyes.
He turned his back on her. He had work to do.
CHAPTER FOUR
GABBY FELT LIKE AN IDIOT. She’d been so determined to show Jon that she didn’t give two hoots what he thought of her. Then she’d put so much time and energy into dressing to meet his mistaken assumptions that she’d done the exact opposite. She might as well have stuck with the miniskirt and stilettos.
She glanced at the k.d. lang T-shirt. She’d had to drive twenty minutes out of her way to pick it up this morning before coming to work. Just so she could thumb her nose at Tyler’s brother.
God, she was dumb.
But that was fairly well established after last night’s self-revelation.
What had she said to him? I barely know you. Why would I care what you think of me?
It should have been true. She wished it was. But she had only to look in the mirror to know what a big fat lie it was. She’d spent hours this morning caring about what Jon thought of her. And for the life of her she didn’t understand why.
