What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG)

by CJ Roberts

  Casey’s mouth fell open. She looked from Travis to the antennae-waving crustacean that was making a valiant attempt to climb out of the sink despite the wooden nails that were visible in the joints behind its massive claws. “You…you mean you spent all morning in the hot sun, pulling up heavy nets filled with shrimps and tending lobster pots just for me?”

  He nodded, then frowned. “Those had better be more onion tears.” He warned, letting his hands curve around her shoulders and giving her a little shake. “I thought it would make you happy.”

  “I am.” She sniffed. “It’s the nicest present I’ve ever had.” Suddenly she laughed, her palms splaying across his hard chest. “While you were on the fishing boat, I was haggling with the vendors in the village market. I brought home fresh tomatoes, spices, meat, and cheese to make into a rich sauce to cover the linguini I found in the pantry.”

  His hands slide down her arms to settle at her waist. He whirled her around the kitchen until they were both breathless and laughing. “We are going to have one helluva feast tonight, baby.”

  For the rest of the afternoon, they worked side by side in the kitchen. Travis boiled and cleaned the giant prawns and then plunged the lobster into a pot of boiling salted water.

  “No, it is not screaming in pain,” he assured Casey, “it’s just air coming out. Put your fingers in your ears.” He let it cook for two minutes, discarded the head and the organs, and cracked the claws. He placed it on a broiler pan and set it in the fridge until it was dinner time.

  Casey found herself crying over both the lobster and the chopped onions she added to the cooked ground meat, garlic, tomatoes, parsley and a host of spices. “All right, taste this now. I think it might be too spicy.” But Travis told her it was perfection. The aroma of Italian cooking filled the air, ready to pour over cooked pasta.

  Travis finished cleaning the counter, flexed the tired muscles of his shoulders and caught site of the kitchen clock. “We’ve finished just in time to enjoy a well-deserved siesta.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly.” Turning off the stove. “A refreshing shower and a nap will do wonders for both of us hard workers.”

  “Miss Reynolds,” he took her hand, “may I have the honor of taking you to dinner at seven?”

  “Mr. Craig, you have a date.”

  “That’s your last shrimp, isn’t it?”

  Casey cast a sidelong glance at Travis, holding the giant pink and white curved prawn a scant, teasing inch from her sherry-tinted lips. “I thought you never ate anything you swam with.” She tried to ignore the twinkle in his eyes.

  “Watching you eat has made the temptation to taste that saltwater delicacy overwhelming.” He grinned at her. “The last one is usually the best.”

  She arched one delicate brow expressively, her eyes thoughtfully contemplating the shrimp before shifting to his dinner plate. “I’ll trade you the last shrimp for the last bit of your linguini.”

  Travis laughed, then nodded in agreement. He expertly twirled the flat, thin pasta around the prongs of his fork and lifted it toward Casey. Her lips sucked the spaghetti into her mouth, her tongue savoring the hearty sauce.

  She extended her hand to Travis, feeling the hardness of his even, white teeth against the tips of her fingers as his mouth devoured the prawn. Tawny gold eyes smiled into soft green ones.

  Casey turned her face toward the coral and pearl sun-streaked landscape. She stretched her long bare arms, her breasts straining against the fitted bodice of her blue cami top. Her elbow knocked one of the citronella candles onto the deck. “Damn!” She scrambled off the chair and bent to quickly pick it up.

  “Ahh ha!”

  “What? No waxed dripped on the deck.” She sat back down and restored the candle.

  “I finally figured out who should play the movie version of you.” At her confused expression, Travis laughed. “When they make a movie of your winning the Pulitzer. Jennifer Lopez. You two have the same face, same hair, and your slim white jeans show off a duplicate of her famous perky ass.”

  “How much hot pepper flakes did you shake on your pasta?” Casey laughed and blushed. “Well, thanks but I think after this dinner, I’ll need her workout trainer.” She groaned self-consciously, letting her hand pat her full stomach. “I’m warning you, it’s low-cal rabbit food for the rest of the week.”

  “You don’t have a thing to worry about in the weight department.” Travis studied her body with obvious pleasure. “You’ve got perfect curves.”

  She nodded her thanks. “That’s because I’ve become the foremost expert on every diet known to mankind.”

  “That’s all you women ever talk about these days – dieting.” He grimaced, stretching out his long, khaki-covered legs.

  “That’s because you men are turned on by pure anatomy,” she countered sweetly, hoping to hide the fact that she was getting turned on by the powerful muscles flexing under his thin knit shirt. “For years men’s magazines have been defining the perfect woman in their centerfold. Every month millions of men ogle some naked, doe-eyed creature with a wealth of hair, their body weight concentrated in two mammary areas, and the mentality of a kumquat.”

  She stood up and leveled an accusing glance in his direction. “Have you ever gone beyond the photos and read those biographies?” She cross-examined Travis but didn’t allow him to reply. “Those women say such clever things like: ‘If I had one wish it would be for every state in the union to border the Pacific Ocean.’” She snorted in disgust and began to scrape the dishes.

  Travis straightened up and squared his shoulders. “Don’t tell me I’m in for a lecture about how those magazines are filled with pure pornography and trash women.” He snickered and picked up two empty serving dishes.

  “Don’t be silly. No one is dragging them bodily off the streets and forcing them to take off their clothes. I grant you the money is there, but there is always a clothed way to make a living.” She walked into the kitchen and reached for her apron. “I just find it annoying how many men are looking for magazine centerfolds. It’s tough to compete with an air-brushed body, limpid eyes and a come hither smile, especially when it’s under five foot three.”

  He put the dishes on the counter by the sink and tied the strings on Casey’s red butcher’s apron. “So most men see you as a potential match for Muhammad Ali rather than a warm, sensuous woman.”

  She nodded dully and, with a long sigh, wandered to the sink. “Most men see tall women as more mature, more powerful, and more together. Most of the boys were at chest level during my teen years, which was very uncomfortable. Most of the men I meet now, end up in jail.” Casey let her hands splash playfully in the sudsy dishwater. Suddenly she laughed and made a confession. “I’ve always wanted to be dainty and clinging and a bit flighty. To have a heart-shaped face, a rosebud mouth, and that ethereal beauty that would make a man swoon.”

  “I had a woman like that.”

  Casey turned at the odd, bitter sound in Travis’s voice. He was leaning against the refrigerator, his eyes focusing intently on the leather stitching in his deck shoes. “Your… fiancée?”

  He nodded. “Barbara was petite, slender and had a childlike quality that made me feel well macho – the strong protector. She was always the height of fashion, and I wanted others to admire me for my choice.” Travis laughed. It was a hard, cruel sound that sent a nervous shiver coursing through Casey’s veins.

  “But I was younger,” he continued, is voice sounding lighter and calmer, more philosophical. “I was seeking an accessory to a fantasy. Then the fantasy began to dissolve under more realistic eyes, flaws began to show, and Barbara’s beauty faded as quickly as it had dazzled.”

  “How long were you engaged?”

  “About six months.” He straightened his tall frame, grabbed a dishtowel, and joined her by the sink. “It didn’t take quite that long for the glitter to flake off our relationship. I found Barbara very shallow and brittle. She always seemed to be looking for something…som
ething I failed to give her. Eventually, she found someone who could do more for her than I could, and that was the end.”

  “How old were you?”

  “That was seven years ago when I was thirty.” He reached for the silverware. “I brooded with feverish intensity for all of two weeks, then it was utter relief.” Travis reminisced with an easy grin. “Now that I’m older and wiser, I realize there’s a lot more at stake than just surface qualities and beauty. You learn to value every person’s uniqueness as an individual being.” His gaze drifted over the velvety skin of her shoulders that the cami top revealed. “You lose interest in numbers and quick getaways and seek an emotional foundation that will complete you.”

  Casey pursed her full lips thoughtfully, while she scrubbed out a frying pan. “I don’t know. Most men look for a woman who will flatter their ego and make them feel superior. They dream of finding a duplicate of that glossy centerfold, the perfect ten.” She look over at him a wrinkled her nose. “You men don’t have the problems of comparisons. No one looks at you to see how you stack up.”

  “Are you kidding?” Travis put down the dishtowel and stared at her, his expression serious. “It’s not easy to be a man these days. In fact, it’s downright uncomfortable at times.”

  “Oh, you mean with all the men sexting the junk in their jockeys or suddenly revealing their passion for hookers or having affairs and extra kids and – you’re right you should be uncomfortable.”

  “And you probably don’t think the women have any blame?”

  “No, they certainly do. Not for the sexting part but the women involved in the affairs knew the men were married.”

  “Well, at least you’re honest about sharing the blame.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I was however talking about the workforce.”

  “What!” Casey slammed the rinsed pan into the dish drainer. “You men still have the edge in the job market.”

  “The gap is closing fast. For years men have been trained to compete, achieve, and win but that was among their own sex. Now we have to compete with the bold new woman. We don’t know whether you’re interested in chicken recipes or…kick boxing. You still claim we are either chauvinists or creeps.” He jabbed a peremptory forefinger into Casey’s bare shoulder, emphasizing each point. “There is nothing worse than an emasculating woman.”

  Her mouth dropped; there was a brief hostile silence. Casey shook her wet hands into the sink, sending a warm spray of water into the air. Then she turned to face her adversary. “Don’t you give me all those chic-clothed euphemisms. You men are just angry because we’ve stopped making you legends in your own time. If our emancipation has made you nervous, that’s tough. We’ve left the home front and invaded all phases of the work force and the locker rooms. And contraception has made the old double standard obsolete.” She smiled at him.

  Travis shrugged his broad shoulders negligently and reached for the pan. “Hey, if you women want to cheapen yourselves –”

  “Ohh…” She grabbed his arm with her damp hands and pulled him around. “Don’t you dare spout that garbage. The old good girl bad girl concept has been flushed down the toilet. Why is it when men sow their wild oats they are spirited and adventurous? When women do it, they are promiscuous and ho’s.” Her eyes glowed like fiery emeralds in her animated face. “Admit it, you men just can’t take the shoe being on the other foot. Now we’re doing the cruising and choosing and there are more cougars on the prowl than you guys can handle. We’re paying for dinners and for men. And the nudes in our magazines are no longer undiapered babies!”

  “But those damn photos in your skin magazines make men feel like show animals,” Travis continued to argue, the corners of his firm mouth twitching with suppressed humor. “The glossy page doesn’t exude wit and charm and personality like the real thing.”

  Casey blinked. Her laugh came easy. “I think that was my major complaint about your men’s magazines. See, no one likes to be a sex object.”

  Travis shook his head and returned her grin. The wide palm of his hand caressed her flushed cheek. His thumb settled into the dimple lodged in her smooth complexion. “It’s fun to argue with you.” His hand slid into the silky curtain of her brown hair, ruffling it with affection.

  She made a face and jerked her thumb toward the collection of dishes that needed to be put into cabinets. Casey watched Travis pick up the pots and pans and walk over to the stove. It was the first time she had really noticed the way he walked.

  Her eyes seemed hypnotized by the firm, easy gait of his long, powerful legs. His walk was more a slow, confident swagger. His poise and proud bearing reflected in each self-assured movement of his muscular body.

  When he bent over to pull out the storage drawer, Casey struggled to pry her gaze from his lean hips and flat buttocks. Roughly, she refocused on the sink. Dumping cleanser onto her sponge and scrubbing the stainless steel with abject diligence as she waited for her erratic breathing to normalize.

  Casey had never had trouble falling asleep but tonight was different. She fought vainly against a desire to turn over but failed. Her body gave way to twisting and turning, her legs ended up tangled between the sheet and blanket. She sat up, straightened her bedclothes, then let her fists punch her pillow into an abstract configuration.

  She lay quiet and straight and tried to summon sleep. She forced her breathing to slow down and tried to calm her rapidly beating pulse. Casey closed her eyes tightly, but that turned out to be a big mistake. There was that damn vision again, the one that had plagued her since she had crawled into bed.

  It was Travis in a centerfold pose, complete with a staple in his navel. Why on earth had she ever even brought that up! Up! Oh, my – his damn arm was denying her complete access to every visible inch of his naked body.

  Her eyes snapped open. It was no good. In the moonlight that slanted through the darkness of her bedroom, his image emerged with three-dimensional clarity. Travis was lying there, across her bed, his tawny eyes glowing like those of a predatory jungle beast.

  She could almost reach out and touch the planes and angles of his rugged face and let her fingers tangle in the coils of his dark hair. She could feel the sinewy breadth of his shoulders beneath her palms and with the tips of her fingers follow the dark matt of hair across his chest to his flat stomach. And then slalom lower, and lower and…

  Angrily, Casey snapped on the bedside lamp, forcing the vision to disappear. She raked her hands through her damp, matted hair and swung her long legs out of bed. What in hell was the matter with her? She was acting like some horny sex-starved voyeur.

  She walked to the drapes and pulled them open, hoping the cool night air would restore her common sense. She had never thought of having reckless sex with anyone, and now she found her glands flooded with need. Just thinking about him generated a jolt of heat that made her wet and pulse. She could feel her breasts swelling in response, her nipples erect and demanding attention. Her inhibitions and insecurities had always controlled her. What was happening to change that?

  She leaned against the door frame and took a couple of steadying gulps of the scented cool night air. She had never been made to feel lovable – only big and clumsy. Her life had never revolved around romance. She had never harbored silly daydreams of a knight in shining armor sweeping her off her feet. She knew the poor man would end up with a hernia.

  Her previous sexual encounters had been complete disasters. And she knew it was her fault. She had turned her energies toward her career. While Casey had lots of friends of both sexes, she had never allowed an intimate relationship to develop, to get in the way.

  Travis had made her life more complicated. There was a strange but pleasurable tension brought on by continued close proximity to a look-but-don’t-touch man. They were platonic roommates. She had totally misread him. He had been indulging in asexual foreplay. He had innocently offered her compassion tenderness, and affection like a brother or a parent. She was the one who was reading more into his ac
tions – giving them a sexual edge.

  Casey winced at her own foolishness, feeling silly that just a man’s physical presence had activated her hormones. She had come here to work and tomorrow she would throw herself into her writing more passionately than before.

  After all, just because they were alone in the villa all day and all night, it didn’t follow that they would end up in bed together. Casey glowered into the moonlight and pulled the drapes closed. She stripped off her damp, wrinkled cotton nightgown and headed for the bathroom. For the first time, in a long time, she needed to be pounded by a cold shower.

  5

  Casey’s guttural sounds of discontent had accompanied Travis while he mopped the kitchen floor. Her angry paper-crunching and impatient toe tapping had punctuated his lunch. Her huffing and slamming of the typewriter carriage had serenaded him through yet another solitary dinner of scrambled eggs. Now her mumbled, unladylike expletives and snorting were providing Travis with music to fold laundry by.

  This had been her routine for the last five days. It was almost as if she had retreated into a shell and gone into hiding. No matter how early he woke, she was already up, had had breakfast, and gone for a solitary swim. She ate lunch over her typewriter and scratched notes on a legal pad during dinner, making little attempt at conversation. She acted as if she were alone in the villa, totally ignoring his presence and concentrating all her efforts on her writing.

  Travis wasn’t jealous of her work, but he was concerned about her health. Physical and mental strain were taking their toll on her. The sparkle in her eyes had been replaced by a dull vulnerability. Her complexion had turned wan and fragile from a lack of fresh air and sunshine. Her shoulders sagged under some invisible Herculean weight and she just picked at her food.

  It was the tenth pulling and crumbling of paper that snapped Travis’s tightly leashed composure. He peeled a pair of apricot bikini briefs off his arm, the dark curls of hair snapping under the static electricity, and threw them back into the laundry basket.