by Lea Santos
Surprise filtered through Emie at Gia’s words. Gia was thrilled to meet a celebrity, no doubt. But she wasn’t ogling Iris, like most people did—men and women.
Iris laughed and said, “Nope, not creeped out. Just be sure to stand clear of furniture and other hazards when you tell her. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for a cracked skull.” She tipped her head and peered down the row of lounge chairs. “That’s our rude friend, Emie, over there. But I guess you two have already met.”
Emie forced a wan smile. What would she do in this situation if it wasn’t Gia standing at the foot of her chaise, casting a cool shadow over her overheated body? Ah, yes. Hospitality. “Can I…get you some iced tea, Gia?”
“I’m good,” she replied.
Oh, hell, yeah. Emie didn’t doubt that claim for a millisecond.
“I actually came about the apartment you have advertised for rent.” She pointed to the sign posted in the front yard.
“It’s been rented,” Emie blurted, just as Paloma and Iris said, “It’s available.” They exchanged another set of meaningful glances.
Gia smirked. “I get the drill now. It’s Emie’s house, we’ll leave it up to her.”
Emie swallowed past a throat that felt like it was coated with drying Spring Eggshell all-weather paint. “What I mean is, it’s not, um, ready to rent yet.”
“Then why the sign?” Gia hitched her head back in the general direction of it. The question wasn’t accusatory. More…curious.
Paloma scrambled to her feet, followed by Iris. Both of them headed for the house. “Boys, come on. Auntie Iris and I are going to make you lunch.”
“We’ll wait here,” Teddy said in a monotone, mesmerized by the caterpillar inching its way up the front of his T-shirt.
“No, you won’t. Come on, Teddy. And leave that caterpillar out here. Pep? Put your cars away. Or leave them there. Whatever works.”
Emie sat forward, her heart rattling at the thought of being left alone with Gia. “Paloma, wait—”
Paloma ignored her protests. “Now, little men.”
“Aw, Mom!” Pep whined. “It ain’t lunchtime—”
“Don’t say ‘ain’t.’”
“It isn’t lunchtime,” he said. “We just ate breakfast. I’ll barf.”
“Listen to your mo-ther,” Iris sang.
Prickly heat clawed up Emie’s neck and, out of her peripheral vision, she saw Gia grinning. The woman obviously knew what was up. How excruciating. Damn Iris and Paloma. Emie imagined this was like being unwillingly propelled into a blind date.
Pep continued to protest. Amongst moans and groans, he and Teddy scuffed to their feet and grudgingly followed the two traitorous brujas from hell into the house. For a few moments after they left, Emie sat stiffly in her lounge chair and concentrated on the birds chirping in the Japanese maple. Or pretended to, at any rate. Awkwaaaard. Soon, Gia stretched out on the chaise next to her with a sigh of satisfaction and the ease of a woman who belonged there.
“Gotta love this Colorado weather,” she said.
Emie watched an enormous white thunderhead float across the blue sky and took surreptitious glances at Gia’s long legs and familiar black boots. What could she possibly say to this woman that wouldn’t come off sounding insane or trite? I want you? I don’t want you? Stay? Go away? She’d never been more attracted to or more confused by a woman, and she still doubted Gia’s motives. But they couldn’t just sit here and ignore each other or she’d go mad. Emie took a deep breath. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and said, “So.”
“So.”
A stiff pause. “You’re here again.”
“You doubted I would be?” Gia’s words held a smile.
Emie swallowed back her reply. Of course she doubted it. Almost as much as she hoped she’d be wrong. She couldn’t start getting all ridiculously mushy. Hell, she didn’t even have mushy in her repertoire. “Listen, I’m not a game player, so let’s cut to the chase. What do you want from me, Gia?”
She felt Gia’s piercing gaze on the side of her face for several long moments. It burned as though those tantalizing fingers had touched her. Instead of answering the question, Gia said, “Your rash is going away.”
Emie lifted a hand to her neck and cut a quick peek at Gia. “I thought you were gone. Back to Chicago, or…wherever.” She listened to the rapid beating of wings as several spooked birds took flight from the branches of the maple. Her stomach felt like the birds’ wings were beating against its walls as she waited for Gia’s response. She tried to focus on the matter at hand and fought not to let Gia’s soapy, just-showered female freshness distract her. When she couldn’t stand the suspense anymore, she turned and found those liquid brown eyes staring at her.
“Why won’t you rent me your apartment, Emie?”
Gia’s smooth voice cooled her and heated her simultaneously. Everything about this woman was distracting and attracting, every word she spoke made Emie want to touch her. And more. Which simply wasn’t her M.O. If she didn’t stay aloof around Gia, she’d wind up in a world of hurt. “Because I don’t know why you want it.”
Gia chuckled and ran those hands through her long, slick hair. “Well, for one, staying in a hotel is costly.”
“There are a lot of apartments in the Denver area. The housing market is wide open.”
“And for two, you’re the only person in Denver I know.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I’d like to change that. That’s reason number three.”
Emie shook her head slowly, unable to hold back her mirthless laugh. “Okay, okay. Jesus. I forgive you for the show. Is that what you want to hear? Will that make you stop trying so hard to work out your guilt? I forgive you,” she enunciated sharply. “You are free to leave.”
For several moments, nothing. Then, “Has it ever occurred to you, Emie, that perhaps I just like being around you?”
Her tummy clenched. “Ah, no. I’m not that naïve. I remember how our paths crossed. Surely you haven’t forgotten, either.”
“Oh, no. I remember.” Gia expelled a sigh. “Let me ask you this. In the makeup room, before…”
Emie sensed Gia’s discomfort and, for a moment, felt bad for her.
“Did you enjoy talking to me?”
“Sure, but that was before I realized you were just blowing sunshine up my ass.”
“Emie, don’t,” Gia chastised softly. She reached out, settling one soft hand on Emie’s leg. Gently. Innocently.
Emie stared down at the exquisite fingers with which Gia had touched her, willing them to stay but knowing she should tell Gia to remove them. But she said nothing. Probably didn’t even draw a breath. And then Gia started caressing her leg in small, promising circles, and Emie’s world rocked.
“You and I both know we hit it off in that room, querida. Despite everything. You were beautiful then, and you’re beautiful now. With or without makeup, Emie Jaramillo, you make my mind work and my heart pound. But that isn’t what matters.”
Emie blinked at Gia, then poked her glasses up.
“Even though you’re beautiful, I couldn’t care less what you look like on the outside, because you’re one of those women who’s beautiful on the inside, and it shows.” Gia’s mouth twisted to the side, and her voice went huskier. “Why can’t you believe me?”
Did Emie dare trust the intoxicating words of this woman? She wanted to. But she couldn’t bear to set herself up for more pain. Her skin tingled from head to foot, and when she darted her tongue out to moisten her parched lips, she saw Gia’s gaze drop to her mouth and deepen. Desire pooled low within her, a steady, wet throb that wouldn’t stop. God, she didn’t want it to stop. “First of all, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if I meet society’s beauty standards, so let’s lay that on the table once and for all.”
“Done.”
“And the other point…I won’t be your pity project, Gia. Not now, not ever.”
“You never would be.”
&
nbsp; “I’m not looking for a relationship. My career is my life. I’m not some desperate…single—” she sputtered, though it felt like someone knifed her heart when she said the words.
“I didn’t come here to hook up with you, Emie. I mean, not necessarily. We can just be friends if that’s what you want.” Gia’s hand slid from her leg. “I’m cool with that.” A beat passed. “Is that what you want?”
“I…I guess.” No. I don’t know. Emie sighed and turned her head away, gathering her wits, gauging Gia’s motives. What would it hurt to be friends? As long as the boundaries were clear, and they both respected them, things wouldn’t get out of control. She needed a renter, Gia needed a place to live. Emie was perfectly capable of resisting the indisputable sexual draw. Gia was just a woman, for God’s sake. A sinuous stretch of kissable, toned, bronze female flesh, that is. Emie nudged her glasses down, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. What was she—love-struck? Sixteen and stupid? No matter what the woman looked like or how sweetly she talked, Emie could manage a platonic relationship with Gia Mendez, makeup artist and painter. She could.
Wait a minute. Her eyes popped open.
With a rush of anticipation, she realized Gia possessed talents she obviously didn’t. Skills and know-how that could help her regain her pride. Gia wouldn’t dare refuse her, even if she didn’t agree with the plan. Emie would play on Gia’s guilt if she had to. And—facts were facts—this brainstorm would meet both their needs.
“There’s good light in the carriage house apartment,” she murmured, clearing her throat. “I mean, for your painting. I can give you a couple months rent free so you can get on your feet if—”
“Hold up.” Hope lit up Gia’s eyes, pulled the corner of her mouth into a half smile. “Does that mean—?”
“Yes,” Emie said. “It’s yours, but only on a couple of conditions.”
Gia crossed her arms, bare biceps flexing. “Name them.”
Emie angled her head toward their slapdash paint job and rolled her eyes. “One, you finish painting this damned house.”
Gia laughed. “I knew you’d come around on that issue. No problem there.”
“Two, we both understand that we’re friends.” She fixed her future tenant with her most earnest stare. “Just friends. I’m not looking for…entanglements.” Pity entanglements—no thanks.
Gia shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll admit, that rule’s a drag, but if that’s how it has to be, okay. We’ve got a deal.”
“Not so fast. One other thing.” Emie’s morning coffee burned in her gut. She splayed a palm over her torso and pressed.
Gia urged her on with a nod.
“I want you…” She faltered, afraid to utter the words, afraid the idea was insane. Afraid. Her teeth cut into her bottom lip for a moment.
“Just say it.”
“I want you to help me change my image. Makeup, hair, all of it. You’re a professional, and that’s what I need.”
Gia looked baffled. “But why? You look great.”
No. Emie wouldn’t fall for that line again. “My reasons are my reasons. Besides, I don’t want to look like this anymore. I don’t want to be remembered for that show.”
“If that’s what you want, okay.” A small line bisected Gia’s brows. “But what exactly do you hope to achieve with this…makeover?”
Turning toward her, Emie hiked up her chin just daring Gia to scoff at her. Taking one more deep breath for courage, she said, “I want to look sexy, like a bombshell. I want you to make me irresistible to Vitoria Elizalde.”
Chapter Four
Gia could understand Emie’s need to regain control, to make some changes in her appearance in order to recover from the blow dealt by The Barry Stillman Show. A lot of people changed some aspect of their looks after a major stressor. What she couldn’t quite grasp was Emie’s desire to become irresistible to a pompous, mean-spirited player when here Gia sat, next to her, ready, willing, and thinking she was fifty kinds of irresistible already. Women. Who could figure them out?
She studied Emie. Tension buzzed just beneath her surface, even though her casual posture belied the fact. Stretched out on the adjacent lounge chair, slim and tentative as a gazelle, a passerby would likely peg her as relaxed. Gia knew better. Emie was waiting for an answer. Sunlight shone on the locks of hair that peeked out of the front of Emie’s backwards baseball cap, and a dollop of paint had dried right on the tip of her straight, kissable nose. Even dressed in an oversized, paint-splattered men’s shirt and cut-offs, Emie looked every inch the brilliant scientist Gia knew her to be.
And then it hit her.
Perhaps Emie wanted that sharp-eyed Elizalde bitch because they were of the same intellectual level. Maybe Gia’s own questionable charms had no effect on Emie because she didn’t measure up where it counted in Emie’s world. Gia was, after all, nothing more than a starving artist, a woman with simple needs. She couldn’t possibly stimulate Emie’s exquisite brain, and just possibly the educated snake could. The thought made Gia clench her jaw until her teeth ground.
Elizalde didn’t deserve Emie.
Maybe you don’t deserve her either, G. You hurt her. A sting of sadness hit her like a gut punch. Who was she trying to kid? Facts were sobering facts: Emie didn’t want her because of what had happened on The Stillman Show. In the first few moments she’d known Emie, she’d betrayed her, and some things, once done, couldn’t be undone. She would do everything in her power to make up for that, even if it meant setting aside her misplaced desire for Emie, at least for the time being. Even if it meant giving a makeover to a woman who didn’t need one. No sense trying to sweet-talk the doc, because Emie wasn’t having it. She still thought Gia had come to Denver out of a sense of pity.
“Well?” Emie blinked from behind her glasses. “Will you agree to all the conditions?”
Uh, yeah. Mama didn’t raise no fool. She’d go along with anything if it meant spending time with Emie, even this absurd makeover idea. If Gia had her own agenda in the whole jacked-up plan, well, Emie didn’t need to know it. This would give Gia time to redeem herself, and after that, she’d show the lovely Dr. Jaramillo she could arouse her brain as well as her senses, no matter their educational differences. But for now, she wouldn’t come on too strong. Throwing the full Mendez Mack Action at this point would just scare Emie away. Gia would let Emie take the lead and, with any luck, she’d come around.
“Of course I’ll do it. It would be my pleasure to be of service to you.” Emie wanted bombshell? Gia would lay it on thick. So thick, in fact, Emie would realize her mistake and put a stop to the whole thing. It’d work. It had to work.
“Then it’s a deal, thank you.” Emie’s tone softened. “I really appreciate this.” She laid her delicate hand on Gia’s arm and squeezed. For a moment Gia’s mind reeled. This kind of gratitude, she could get used to. She’d work on giving Emie better reasons to touch her body with those velvety hands, but for now, the thank-you worked well enough.
“You appreciate it?” Gia chuckled. “You’re saving me from a road trip to nowhere.”
A wrinkle of worry touched Emie’s forehead, and her fingers moved to her bottom lip. “I didn’t even stop to consider your situation. I just assumed…can you stay in Denver?”
Mr. Fuentes always told her, if you don’t have anywhere to go, you better start liking where you are. Gia spread her arms and grinned. “I’m all yours. Two months’ free rent might be just the jump-start my art career needs.” And it will give me time to show you I’m the woman you need. She relaxed back, feeling better than she had in a long time.
“What are you going to do to me first?” Emie asked.
A dagger of desire impaled Gia, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Emie’s gaze was clear, her question innocent of innuendo, but Gia was damn proud to be a red-blooded Latina lesbian. It took every ounce of restraint not to leap on the double entendre she read into Emie’s words.
Damn.
Was she
the only one feeling this undercurrent of electricity between them?
Against her natural inclinations, she adopted an all-business attitude. “First off, I need to get moved in. Next, I finish painting the house. Then”—she clapped her palms together, then rubbed them slowly as she fully assessed Emie—“how much time do we have?”
“The fall faculty get-together is on August sixth, so about”—Emie’s eyes shifted up and to the left as she calculated—“four weeks.” Doubt clouded her expression. “Can we pull it off?”
“That’s more than enough time. We’ll do your hair first.”
Emie tucked her chin like a puppy used to getting smacked. “Okay.”
Gia narrowed her gaze. Perhaps she should be extra gentle with Emie’s feelings; she couldn’t quite read her yet, but no harm in erring on the side of caution. “Not that your hair needs work. It’s just, we have to start somewhere.”
“No worries,” Emie said, reaching up to toy with what little hair stuck out from beneath her cap. “Frankly, I could use the help. I aimed for Halle Barry and somehow wound up with third-grade boy.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Gia laughed, then couldn’t help herself from testing the boundaries. She lowered her tone into a velvet caress. “I figure I’ll just start at your head and make my way slowly down your body until I have it all covered. Sound good?” A sly grin begged to make an appearance, but she held it back. She watched Emie holding her breath and knew she was staving off those endearing hiccups.
Finally, Emie found her voice, breathy and feminine. “Uh…it, um, yes. Sounds good.”
*
Gia definitely wore those cute cheeky shorts, Emie decided. Or maybe nothing. Or maybe she shouldn’t be gawking at Gia’s backside with unabashed lust, but, damn, she just couldn’t help it. She stared dry-mouthed at the skin-exposing rip in Gia’s jeans—just below her perfectly curved ass—as Gia descended the ladder to retrieve the ice water Emie’d brought out. When Gia’s foot reached the bottom rung, Emie tore her reverence from that toned, sun-gleaming body and focused on the fresh coat of Spring Eggshell paint on her house. Her mind’s eye remained firmly on Gia’s ass, though. “God, it looks so good.”