Darlene looked at her husband, then nodded gratefully and put on a smile. “Now what was I saying? Oh, yes. Tate was a beautiful child with a sweet nature.” She glanced at Bree. “So was my darling daughter,” she added, and her eyes filled with motherly bemusement. “Of course, right from the start they both had their moments.”
“We wouldn’t be Chandlers if we didn’t,” Bree quipped, and everyone smiled.
Gemma looked at Tate, whose expression had closed up and who now had his hands thrust in his trouser pockets. She realized the awkwardness wasn’t only between Helen and Darlene. The tension was between mother and son, a tension that Tate didn’t have with his grandmother. The warm feeling between grandmother and grandson was obviously reciprocated. At the wedding, Helen had shown more than a soft spot for Tate. Hadn’t the elderly woman hinted at being worried Gemma would hurt him? Helen couldn’t be such an unfeeling person then.
So why pick on poor Darlene?
Gemma asked herself that question a couple more times during the delicious lunch as everything returned to normal and the only person Helen appeared to be slightly reserved with now was her.
Back to square one.
Or was it? All afternoon Tate watched her, stepping in and changing the subject, or getting her away from his grandmother whenever the woman focused on her in the smallest way. It was as if he was protecting her, now that he knew all she had suffered at the hands of her parents. Offering an olive branch? Okay, so it was more like a twig, but it didn’t mean any less.
But on the way home it wasn’t the tension between Tate and his family that worried her. It was the heightening awareness between the two of them—the feeling that after this morning, an arm’s length wasn’t enough.
Did she really want it to be?
“About my parents,” she said, trying to get back to normalcy. “Thank you for sticking up for me. I really do appreciate it.”
Tate gave her a pleased sideways glance. “You’re welcome.” Then, in an instant, there was something more in his look, as if he was remembering making love to her.
She dragged in a breath and searched for something else to say. “Doesn’t your grandmother like your mother?”
Oh, dear.
His hands tightened on the wheel, but he kept his eyes on the road. “Why do you say that?”
She’d been trying to dispel the sexual tension inside the car. Instead, she’d replaced it with another type of tension.
She wrinkled her nose. “Just something in the air when they’re in the same room.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Her gut feeling said that wasn’t the truth. Something was going on here. Yet was it really any of her concern? In spite of being grateful that he’d supported her today, she hadn’t wanted him messing in her affairs before now. He wouldn’t like her messing with his. She let it be.
It was a relief to arrive home and get out of the car. Inside the house, all was quiet.
Not for long, though, not with a one-year-old in the house. Nathan had been thoroughly spoiled all afternoon by the Chandlers, so it took a great deal of patience to get him through dinner, a bath and in his crib.
“Is he asleep?” Tate asked quietly behind her, making her jump as she backed out of Nathan’s room.
She spun around. Tate was right there in front of her. Up close. “Almost.”
“I thought I’d order pizza for dinner.”
“P-pizza?”
“You used to love pizza.”
“I still do.” Her stomach fluttered. They had once shared a pizza and then made love. Of course, Tate had grown up wealthy, so delivered pizza had been a novelty for him. As she had no doubt been a novelty for him…
“I’ll leave a note for Peggy that we don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Won’t she—” She paused.
Amusement lit up his eyes. “What?”
She could feel herself blushing. “You know.”
“Think I’m having my ‘wicked way’ with you?” His gaze roamed her face. “That’s exactly what I intend to do. Again and again.” Giving her the full force of his charisma, he lowered his head, his lips seeking hers…just as Nathan started to cry. Tate hovered above her mouth. “We could let him keep crying,” he murmured.
She hardly dared move. “We could.”
The crying got louder.
He inhaled deeply, straightened and gave a wry smile. “You’d better go see to our son.” Before she could move away, he put his hand under her chin and kissed her quick. “Then later, lady, I intend to see to you. And I intend to take my time doing so.”
Gemma had already pictured herself locked against his naked body, but his words reminded her of something she had to say. Nathan could wait a few moments more. His was a tired cry, not a hurting one.
She nervously wet her lips. “I know we didn’t use…er…protection this morning, but I am on the pill now. I started taking it a few weeks ago when you said we were getting married. I just thought I’d say so. In case you were worried.”
“I’m not.” He raised an eyebrow but was watchful. “Are you?”
“No.” Having his baby again and sharing in the wonder of it, knowing Tate would be pleased to be a part of it this time, would be wonderful. If only…no, she wouldn’t wish for more. She didn’t need more to give their children a happy life, she told herself.
He frowned. “There’s a problem?”
She couldn’t tell him her thoughts. “The doctor did say it may not be fully effective for another few weeks.”
His face relaxed. “Then we’ll take extra precautions in future.” He ran a finger along her chin. “And from now on we’re sharing a bed.”
“Are you sure?”
“There’s no going back now.”
She silently agreed. It would be too cruel to return to a platonic marriage. “No, there isn’t.”
His mistrust of her hadn’t been resolved, but she had hopes they could move past it now that there was a renewed connection between them. Their married life had truly begun. And that was a scary but exhilarating thought.
By the time the pizzas arrived, Gemma had showered and changed into slacks and a knit top, and Nathan was asleep in his crib.
She and Tate ate opposite each other at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. There was no playfulness between them, but there was a definite heat that had been building all evening. This time was too serious, too important, to be messing around about it all. She didn’t offer to hand-feed Tate any of her slice, and he didn’t offer to lick her fingers clean, but oh, my, she could see he was thinking it, and remembering.
She had just finished washing down her second slice with a soda when she heard a rumble in Tate’s chest. “Enough,” he said in a strangled tone, dropping his pizza back in the box and surging to his feet. He came around the breakfast bar and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. We’re going to bed.”
Anticipation thumped inside her. “But I haven’t finished,” she said inanely.
“Neither have I.” He didn’t smile. He didn’t stop. He led her out of the room and kept right on going until they were upstairs in his bedroom, where he quietly closed the door behind them and flicked on the light.
A hush fell.
His eyes took on an intensity that surprised her. “Now…what was that about taking our time…” He moved slowly closer, standing right in front of her, cupping her shoulders.
Time slowed.
Bending his head forward, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her gently. She’d expected a hungry kiss, but it was none the less potent for its gentleness. She closed her eyes and let herself feel him, feel the moment between them.
After a while he drew back. She missed his lips already and made a sound, but she forgave him when he brought her fingers to his lips. One by one, he kissed her fingertips, then the inside of her palm, next the tender skin of her wrist. He moved up her arm, to the curve of her shoulder.
“I remember that,” he murmured, slippi
ng his hand around her nape, looking into her eyes.
Her breath quivered. “What?”
“The little hitching sound you make in your throat when I touch you.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know.” He dipped his lips to her throat, stealing her breath away.
Soon he leaned back and unhurriedly peeled off her clothes—her knit top, her bra…then her slacks and panties—exposing her until she was fully naked.
“Oh, yeah, I remember it all,” he said huskily.
Sensations raced along her nerves, making her ache with wanting him. He stroked her breast then bowed his head to it. He circled her nipple with his tongue, then caught it between his lips and sucked.
She heard the hitch in her throat then.
And heard it again when he moved to her other breast.
His fingers started down her belly, heading for the apex of curls, and the hitch turned to a longing moan. She wanted him to touch her there. Oh, how she wanted him to touch her and touch her and keep right on touching her.
And then she wanted to touch him.
She put her hand against his chest and when she pushed him away she saw his surprise. “Let me.” She brushed her lips over his as she pressed her palms against him, steadying herself and soaking up the feel of muscle beneath his shirt.
She undid his buttons slowly, starting at the lowest.
“You used to be much faster than this,” he muttered in bemusement. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“I was always in a hurry before.” She’d been in love with him and she’d instinctively tried to grab all she could before it disappeared like the wind, which it had. Tonight she would take it slower and make memories. She would keep their future alive as long as possible.
Finally she undid the last button and slid his shirt off, loving the way his heartbeat thumped in his chest. She placed her lips to that beating heart and he groaned.
“You are a beautiful, beautiful man,” she whispered. She moved her lips over his skin, swirling her tongue through the wisps of hair, the heat rising off him like a sultry day.
Her tongue prowled down toward his trousers.
All at once she was lifted, thrown over his shoulder. He carried her to the large bed, where he let her down on the duvet. She flopped back against it, her legs dangling over the edge, her naked body his to view.
She rose on her elbows, slightly embarrassed by the way she was positioned, slightly confused by the speed with which he’d changed everything. “I thought you said slow?”
“I didn’t say torture,” he muttered. He went down on his knees, parting her legs to lick through the dark vault already pre-moistened by her desire for him. She bucked at the touch of him. He began stroking his tongue up and down and soon put his hands on her hips to hold her still, allowing her to rise and fall but not escape. Not that she wanted to.
He tormented her with his mouth, and everything inside her grew to a fever pitch. She held his head to her, one minute gripping tight, then tunneling her fingers through his hair. He was touching the heart of her, and she couldn’t hold back for much longer. He was rapidly bringing her to the edge of release, his tongue delightful and incredibly effective.
Then he buried his tongue deeper and she didn’t have the slightest chance of staying in control. She willingly jumped into the most glorious oblivion.
By the time she had the strength to open her eyes, he had taken off his clothes and was sliding on a condom. She’d missed her opportunity to repay the favor, but he moved her backward on the bed so he could join their bodies. She didn’t mind. She took him inside her, surrounding him, and knew this was just right, just how it should be between a man and a woman.
Excitement raced through her veins, followed by another tumult of emotions. Like a far-off light coming closer, they got brighter and brighter. Then it hit her: saying “Only you” was as close as she could get to saying “I love you.”
Oh, God, she still loved him.
She’d never stopped loving him.
He was imprinted in her heart for always.
She looked into eyes that were dark in concentration. It was Tate who made this special for her. He was the reason she was edging toward heaven, storming the gates, pushing them open.
She wanted to tell him.
Oh, Lord, she wanted to tell him.
But from somewhere deep inside, she drew on an inner strength she didn’t know she had, somehow managing to hold back the words of love she knew could destroy her if she uttered them.
Yet she needed to say something.
“Only you, Tate,” she cried out breathlessly as she felt herself being swallowed up by something bigger than the both of them.
And she knew then that no matter what had gone before, no matter what had been, this time in this man’s arms she had truly come of age.
After they made love again, in the shower, Gemma lay in Tate’s arms listening to his breathing, which was relaxed by sleep. The knowledge that she still loved him filled her with joy, and fear. There was so much more at stake this time. They’d found a profound togetherness when he was a part of her, but she knew it didn’t extend beyond those bonded moments. Not for him anyway.
She wanted so much to tell him of her love, but how could she open herself to more hurt? He didn’t love her, and he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her again if he thought she’d done the wrong thing again. She only had to remember how he’d reacted to finding her kissing his best friend. He’d been so angry he’d kicked her out of his life. Could it happen again? Drake was still around, wasn’t he? And even if he wasn’t, Tate still didn’t fully trust her. The littlest thing could bring her world toppling down one more time.
Last time he’d kicked her out, she’d gone because she’d had to. Then she’d picked herself up because she’d had to. But if it happened again and she lost her son and her home and the man she loved all at once, she didn’t think she’d recover. No organization, no book, no counseling, no amount of self-help would repair her broken heart. Her love for him would never die. It was inside her. It was a part of her. It was love at its powerful best, and that meant it had the capacity to do the most damage.
No, she wasn’t willing to tell him.
Thankfully, right then, his mouth sought hers, and her thoughts were soon silenced by the man she loved.
Eight
“Peggy, I’d like you to move Gemma’s things into my room today,” Tate said at breakfast the next morning, making Gemma’s heart jump.
The housekeeper wasn’t quick enough to hide her surprise, though Tate’s note about not wanting to be disturbed last night must have given her a clue that this would happen. A moment later, Peggy smiled at them both with clear pleasure. “I’d be happy to, Mr. Chandler.”
Somehow Gemma managed not to blush, even as she remembered Tate having his “wicked way” with her last night. Three times in fact—three times where she’d had to work hard at not giving herself away—reminding herself that her love for him was a secret. It was a matter of self-preservation.
“We’ll do it together, Peggy,” Gemma said, thinking she could make a game of it with Nathan while Tate was at the office.
Her heart was light as she and Peggy moved her things into the other suite. With two walk-in closets, there was no need to move any of Tate’s stuff to make room for hers. Of course, she couldn’t help but think that her clothes from before her marriage wouldn’t have taken up a quarter of this space. And it would have only taken a minute to move them.
She kept an eye on Nathan in his playpen as she and Peggy moved back and forth with the expensive dresses, slacks and blouses, coats, swimsuits, everything for any occasion, including her underwear. She blushed at the memory of Tate stripping the scraps of material from her body with total precision.
“I’ll just pop downstairs and get some more drawer liners,” Peggy said a short while later. “This closet has never been used, and those are looking a bit faded.”
Gem
ma was pleased that no other woman had shared this suite, this house, with Tate. “Take your time, Peggy,” she said, flopping down on the bed and taking a breather.
The housekeeper left the room and was heading down the stairs when the telephone rang. Gemma was closest to the phone, so she called out that she’d get it.
She soon wished she hadn’t.
“Hello, Gemma.”
Drake!
She stood up. “Tate’s at the office, as you must know.”
“How would I know that? I thought he and you might still be on your honeymoon.”
“You could have called him on his cell phone to find out.”
“Then I’d miss talking to you, wouldn’t I?”
“Drake, stop it.”
He sighed as if she were being unreasonable. “Gemma, you’re my best friend’s wife now. I’m merely attempting to make amends.”
She’d never believe that.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I was phoning to commiserate with Tate about those nasty pictures of your old apartment going around the internet. I thought he might be upset about them.”
Her heart lurched inside her chest. “How do you know about them?”
“I was talking to Bree earlier.”
More and more, Gemma believed Bree was the one behind all this. “She had no right telling you anything.”
“I’m Tate’s best friend. She thought I might be able to help in some way.”
Or cause trouble.
“You know, Gemma, it’s never wise to be complacent about these things.”
It was a warning that she shouldn’t be complacent about her marriage. Suddenly it hit her. Bree wasn’t behind those pictures at all.
It was Drake.
“I could say the same to you,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. He wanted to hear how he was getting to her.
“Gem, I don’t know what you mean. I’m merely trying to be a friend to you both.”
God, she hated him calling her “Gem,” hated the smugness in his voice. “You were never a friend of mine, Drake. Or of Tate’s, if he only but knew it. One day he’ll see you for what you are.”
Secret Son, Convenient Wife Page 11