A knock at the bedroom door sounded, crashing into her trancelike state. She gasped, crossed her arms over her breasts, and turned away from the window. “Yes?”
“Gemma,” her mother said through the door, “how about a nice salad?”
“Sounds good, Mom. Thanks. I’ll be right down.”
She pushed her hands into her hair and let out a sigh. What had she been thinking? Was she so out of control that she couldn’t even restrain herself when her own mother was in the house?
She practiced deep breathing, counting to ten. Then, somewhat calmer, she dressed in jeans and T-shirt, ignoring the pings of the sensitive areas of her body. The window was like a magnetic field, pulling at her. She avoided it and went downstairs to face her mother, a stone of dread in her stomach.
Phyllipa had donned an apron and was rinsing romaine lettuce at the sink while the microwave hummed away, warming the lasagna. Gemma stopped at the doorway of the kitchen and pursed her mouth, because her mother’s attention wasn’t on the salad. Instead, she was craning to look out the window, presumably for a glimpse of the “strange man” that Gemma had been adhered to.
“Dad didn’t want to come?” Gemma asked, snagging a tomato slice from a plate.
Her mother turned and wiped her hands on the apron. “He had something he needed to do.”
A big, fat lie. “The lasagna smells great.”
Her mother crossed her arms and assumed her parental stance. “So … are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
Gemma felt herself being pulled along on the force of her mother’s not-so-subtle guilt trip. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Jason is barely out of the house and you’ve already taken up with someone else? Or maybe that was the reason he left in the first place?”
“No, that’s not the reason,” Gemma said through gritted teeth. “And I’m not going to explain my personal life to you, Mother.”
Her mother screwed up her mouth, which was too bad, because otherwise Phyllipa was a very attractive woman. But Gemma had a hard time imagining her cold, uptight mother being warm and intimate. No wonder her parents seemed so distant from each other.
“Have you talked to Jason lately?”
“As a matter of fact, I called to ask him what to do with the things he left behind, and he didn’t even have time to talk to me.”
“He’s a very busy man.”
“I know, Mother. I lived with him for ten years.”
Her mother began ripping the lettuce into chunks. “A marriage requires sacrifice, Gemma, especially when your husband has a demanding job.” Phyllipa nodded to the stack of rolled-up newspapers by the door. “Since you haven’t been keeping up with the news, you should know that Jason is in the middle of a very important drug case right now. I’m sure his stress level is through the roof. He needs all the support he can get.”
A lump of emotion lodged in Gemma’s throat. “Why are you making this out to be my fault? Whose side are you on?”
Phyllipa turned a compassionate eye on Gemma. “I’m on your side, dear. I want to see you safe and secure. Do you realize that Jason might be the next governor?”
Gemma bit down on the inside of her cheek. “This isn’t what I’d planned either, Mom, but Jason has made it clear that he doesn’t want to be married to me.”
“Do you still love him?”
She hugged herself. “I … guess so. I miss him. I was blindsided, so I’m still getting used to the idea of not being married to him.”
Her mother came over and ran her hands up and down Gemma’s arms. “If you love him, you have to fight for him, dear. He’s probably going through a little midlife crisis. He’ll be back when he realizes that he can’t live without you.”
Phyllipa smiled, her eyes bright with concern and sincerity, and Gemma felt her mother’s love wash over her. She made the scenario that Gemma had initially fantasized about—of Jason coming back—seem possible. And preferable. But so much water had passed under the bridge … she was growing stronger and more independent every day, looking forward to finding her own way. “Mom, I’m not sure that I would welcome Jason back.”
“That’s your anger talking,” her mother said quietly, squeezing Gemma’s shoulders. “And you’re entitled to it. But don’t let it harden you to the possibility of patching things up with Jason. The best thing you can do right now is to let him cool his heels. He’ll come to his senses.”
Her mother had a way of making things sound so simple. If only. Gemma decided not to respond, to merely let her mother think what she wanted. In time Phyllipa would have to accept reality.
Her mother pulled her into a rocking hug, then withdrew and angled her head. “In the meantime, don’t do something that might make it even harder for the two of you to reconcile.”
The reference to Chev was unmistakable. Warmth flooded her face, but Gemma was saved from responding when the microwave chimed, effectively distracting her mother. She made it through the meal with small talk about the weather and asking about her mother’s book club. When the subject of her job came up, she said she was working for a local museum.
“From the looks of the panty hose you were wearing, they must have a strange dress code,” Phyllipa observed.
Gemma simply nodded and complimented the food. Fortunately, her mother didn’t like driving in the dark, so she left soon after they were finished eating. Gemma stood on the porch and waved as her mother pulled away. When the car was gone, she stole a glance next door and saw that a few lights were on. Chev was still working, probably on the yards of wood molding that still needed to be repaired. The man obviously enjoyed working with his hands, but he was intelligent, too. And oh, so sexy in an earthy way that appealed to her baser instincts.
In fact, she wondered if her exhibitionism would have been so quickly revived if he hadn’t been such a willing participant, located so conveniently next door, with a bird’s-eye view into her bedroom. Probably not, she decided with a little bubble of resentment that she allowed to grow. He was, at least partially, responsible for her wicked behavior.
Feeling marginally absolved, Gemma turned and walked back inside, scooping up the unread newspapers. Her mother’s comments about Jason had piqued her interest. She had to admit that she missed being in the middle of state politics.
Poring over the pages of the papers, her heart caught at the pictures of Jason at a press conference, or striding into the capitol building, looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. A gag order had been issued regarding the drug case.
No matter what had happened between them, she still respected him for rising to such an impressive office. He was, as her mother had indicated, probably headed for the governor’s mansion. To think that she might have been the first lady of the state…
The phone rang, piercing into her thoughts, jangling her nerves. She glanced at the caller ID and noted it was coming from a private source. Afraid it was that pesky reporter Wilcox again, she almost didn’t answer. After the fourth ring, however, she changed her mind.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Gemma.”
Her pulse spiked. “Jason … hi.”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Gemma glanced around at the dark emptiness of the house and almost laughed. “No.”
“I