by C. C. Coburn
Gabe was easy on the eyes, easy on the ears and he loved her cooking. Now, if only she could talk him into coming upstairs…
The sound of Gabe clearing their plates away woke her from her musings. With a pang of regret, she realized their meal was over and he’d soon be leaving.
“Leave those,” she said as she rose and joined him at the sink.
Gabe turned and placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed her down into his chair. “Sit,” he commanded. “You cooked, so I’ll clean. It’s the least I can do.”
“Oh, Gabe Hunter, where have you been all my life?” Beth sighed as she watched Gabe rinse the plates and stack them in the dishwasher. Then he set about clearing up the countertops. JJ had never lifted a finger in the kitchen, let alone the rest of the house. She supposed she’d been to blame for that, wanting to please, wanting to be the perfect wife and mother. But the novelty of keeping house and dealing with dirty diapers and colicky babies soon wore off, and Beth had found herself resenting JJ’s attitude to ‘women’s work’.
“I don’t have anything to offer for dessert except butterscotch ice–cream,” she said, hoping to entice him to stay at least a few minutes longer so she could gaze into those warm brown eyes, admire the thickness of his dark brown hair and the calluses on his big, capable–looking hands. Beth bet those hands could be real capable on her body.
She exhaled a breath laced with want. She had to stop fantasizing about sex. All it was doing was making her feel more frustrated than ever.
“Homemade?”
“Yes. But I have to confess my kids made it, so I can’t vouch for its quality,” she said and opened the freezer.
“In that case, I’d better pass.”
“Oh, no!” Beth cried before she could stop herself. She had to think of some way of keeping him here, at least for a little while longer.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, peering into the freezer with her. Beth liked the warm feeling of his body pressed close to hers. Maybe if she could overpower him, she could stick him in the freezer and take him out when she needed sex. She shook her head. She was going nuts. Hadn’t she read somewhere that sexual frustration leads to madness?
“Nothing!” she said brightly and pulled out the tub of ice–cream. “I’ll try it and if I don’t die after a couple of minutes, then it should be safe for you to eat,” she suggested.
Gabe shrugged. “O…kay. If you’re sure.”
“Trust me,” she said, “I’m a mother.”
They resumed their seats and Gabe watched Beth dig into the tub of ice–cream. Her eyes closed as she swallowed the first mouthful.
“You’re not going to pass out are you?”
“No, I’m considering the taste. What’s arsenic taste like?”
“Are your children likely to have put any in there?”
“Only accidentally.”
“That’s reassuring,” he said and watched her some more. She had such expressive eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and upturned lips that spoke of mischief. He guessed her to be in her early to mid–thirties, given that she’d already mentioned her oldest son was twelve.
“Why did your husband cheat on a nice girl like you, Beth?” he couldn’t help asking.
She blinked, as though the question was totally unexpected. “I’m hardly a girl,” she said, and Gabe noticed once again the vulnerability in her eyes.
“I guess he fooled around because he thought he could get away with it. He sure was surprised when I kicked him out of the house and didn’t give him a second chance.”
“Good for you!”
“Thank you. I copped a lot of flak over that, especially from his mother, who couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. My mother, too, for that matter.” She spooned in another mouthful and swallowed. “I think the ice–cream is fine, if you want to risk it.”
Gabe picked up a spoon and dug into the tub. They spent the next few minutes savoring the icy treat. A couple of times their hands touched as they reached into the tub at the same time. Beth’s nerves were buzzing from the contact. If touching his hand was doing this to her, then she didn’t like to think what a mess she’d make of the kitchen if his hand brushed her breast and she spontaneously combusted.
“Was it sex?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Some men claim they strayed because they thought they weren’t getting enough at home,” he explained.
“I’m the one who wasn’t getting enough. Our youngest was conceived by some sort of miracle as we were rarely sleeping together in the biblical sense, even back then. Now, of course, I know why.”
“The other woman.”
“The other women.”
“Oh.”
“After I had the audacity to kick him out, he fessed up and bragged about the other women. Said what I hadn’t known hadn’t hurt me so far and why did everything have to change now I knew about it?”
Beth caught herself wringing her hands together as though she was strangling JJ. Dropping them to the table, she tried to tamp down on the bitter taste of bile as it rose in her throat. She didn’t want to talk about sex with her ex. She wanted to talk about, no, do it, with Gabe Hunter. Maybe if she got the gory details of her failed marriage over and done with now, they could get onto more pleasant topics soon.
“When I demanded to know why he’d done it, he said I hadn’t been paying enough attention to him. I didn’t praise him enough for being a good provider. Didn’t worship him like I used to. Apparently his bimbo receptionist did. So he moved in with her and now she strokes his ego. And she’s welcome to it.”
“They’re still together?”
“Uh, huh.” She pushed the rest of the tub towards Gabe. “I hate it that my kids have to spend a second with that pair of home–wreckers, but we have joint custody. Luckily JJ only wants the kids one weekend a month. I’m suspicious of his motives once he tires of his present plaything though.”
“You sound like you’re still carrying round some heavy baggage.”
“Do I?” Beth sat back and looked around the kitchen at the happy snaps of her children. There were cheery drawings in childish hands, framed and hung on the walls. Stuck to the fridge door…
Gabe Hunter was pleasant company. He didn’t need to have her lay her problems on him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to sound bitter but I’ve never had the chance to really let JJ have it between the eyes about how much I hate him for betraying us all. I think I need to do that, to be able to really move on. Either that or just run him over.” She took a deep breath. “Can we change the subject?”
“Sure,” he said.
She watched as he sat back and stretched his arms above his head. He was tired. Tired of her company. Tired of her talking about her crappy marriage and bragging about her kids. Beth searched her mind for another subject to try and keep him there, talking to her, making her feel like a worthwhile human being. Like a woman.
Sex was the only subject that sprang to mind. She was pretty sure he was sick and tired of that as a subject too. The evening had passed so pleasantly, Beth suddenly realized that she hadn’t needed to fall back on her old conversation filler—forensics. She’d driven off more than a few blind dates with that one. Talking forensics was her standby for dull dates. This ‘date’, if it could be called that, was far from dull.
Gabe was such wonderful company, so it was a pity he didn’t want sex. But, oh, how she ached for it, ached for him. She expelled a tiny sigh of frustration.
“You’re tired,” he said and rose from his chair. “I guess I’d better be going.”
“No!” she cried, then got herself under control. “I mean, no, I’m not tired at all. I don’t have to get up early tomorrow, so I can stay up as late as I want. You don’t have to go. Would you like coffee?” she asked to stop herself babbling so pathetically.
“Coffee sounds good,” Gabe said and settled back in his chair to watch Beth. He enjoyed watchi
ng her go about domestic things with practiced ease. Beth Harman was a nice person. And if he was honest with himself, the thought of making love with her hadn’t been far from his mind all evening. She aroused him, not only physically, but intellectually. He could sense a sharp intelligence in her, one he perceived she’d often played down, probably in order not to appear more intelligent than her ex. All that was behind her now and Beth was free to be her own woman, at liberty to let her heart and soul soar. It was her libido that seemed to be causing her problems at the moment. It was a damn shame he wasn’t into casual sex, otherwise this evening might have ended very differently.
“I notice you have a collection of books on forensics,” Gabe said, indicating her bookcase.
Beth pulled a face. “I’m fascinated with it. I hate to admit it, but I’ve recorded every episode of the CSI series.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Gabe assured her. “I enjoy watching the occasional episode myself. I’d stop short of recording them though.”
“Would you like to have coffee in the living room?” she asked and Gabe glanced up to find her waiting for his reply, a tray loaded with mugs, creamer, sugar and pot in her hands.
“Sure.” Gabe stood and reached for the tray. “You lead the way.” He was rewarded with a smile of gratitude and followed her out of the kitchen, enjoying the gentle sway of her hips.
The room she led him to was softly lit. He placed the tray on a low table and took a seat on the couch beside her and watched as she poured coffee for both of them. He added two lumps of sugar to his, stirred it, then sat back into the cushions. Beth added cream to her coffee and nestled into the cushions, bringing her legs up under her.
Gabe regarded the room and nodded. “This room suits you. It’s very like you.”
“Really? How?”
“It’s comfortable, welcoming. Easy to be with. A little quirky.”
Beth experienced a warm glow of contentment. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Please do.”
“I completely redecorated the house when JJ left. This room was full of stuffy dark antiques and reminded me too much of his mother’s house.” She pulled a face. “And the kids now have rooms painted in colors they like, not ones chosen by a decorator.”
“Tilly said you were an artist. Are any of these yours?” He indicated the paintings decorating the walls.
“Tilly exaggerates,” she said, pleased her friend considered her an artist. Beth didn’t consider her scratchings art. “I’ve sold a couple of things here and there and have a few commissions for portraits, but I’d hardly call myself an artist.”
“I’ve got a feeling that for too long you’ve been downplaying your talents.” He stood and offered her his hand. “Lead me to your studio.”
Beth let him pull her to her feet. “Are you sure? I mean there’s nothing much to see.”
He placed her coffee mug in her hands and retrieved his own. “Lead on,” he commanded.
Beth led him back through her kitchen and out the door to the garage. She’d converted it to her studio, figuring it was better for the fumes from the oil paints she used to be vented away from the house. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, then hesitated a moment before hitting the light switch and flooding her studio with light.
Gabe stepped inside. “Wow!” he said and walked around the room glancing at canvases on easels and hung on walls, running his hand over a sculpture, taking in everything. He turned back to her. “You’re good. Damned good,” he said, indicating the portraits in various stages of completion. “Who are these for?”
“I did one of the wife of the CEO of a local company. He liked it so much he ordered one of himself. His friends saw it and so on. Now I’ve got about six commissions on the go at once.”
“Do you have to wait till they have time to come back to sit for you?”
“They don’t come here. I go to them—at least for the initial sitting. They like to be painted in their offices or homes. I guess it appeals to their egos to have something hanging on the wall that mirrors their surroundings. I take photos at the first sitting and start on the portrait there, then work off the photos at home. Then there are two more sittings before the portrait is finished.”
“I’m impressed and I can see how they are too. You seem to catch something of the essence of their characters. I like the smiles,” he added, observing each of the subjects wore one. Far different from the usual formal portraits of subjects wearing stern expressions.
“I can’t abide those serious portraits, so forbidding!” she said, reading his mind. “So I get my subjects to talk about themselves. We tell jokes and I catch them in an unguarded moment, when they’re giving something of themselves they probably don’t show to everyone in their business lives. Tilly says it’s the secret of my success.”
“And I can see why. Did you have any formal training?”
“I was studying fine arts at college but gave it up to go to work to put JJ through dental school. It’s only since he left I’ve been able to return to painting and make a bit of a career out of it.” She didn’t think it was worth mentioning her mother looked down on her choice of career. However, Beth’s sister, Marguerite, was a model, and Marguerite’s fame on the catwalks of Milan, Paris and New York made up for Beth’s shortcomings.
Gabe glanced further around the room and indicated the sculptures. “These are great. You’re incredibly versatile.”
Beth laughed. “I started sculpting years ago as a way of dealing with pent–up frustration. Although at the time I don’t think I realized that. Squeezing clay and molding it to my desires was a metaphor for what I couldn’t do with my marriage, I guess. I’ve sold a few pieces too, but only to friends and acquaintances. I don’t think they’re good enough for a collector.”
“JJ sure did a number on you for your confidence to be so low.”
Beth smiled at his compliment, but still wasn’t convinced. “A gallery has offered me a one–woman show. I turned them down. I think I’d die if anyone didn’t buy anything. It’s safer to do things this way.”
Gabe came over and put his hand on the back of her neck, sending shivers up and down her spine. “I don’t agree, but we’ll deal with your lack of confidence in your very obvious ability some other time.” He steered her towards the door, shut off the lights and locked the door behind them.
They returned to the living room and she watched him drain the last of his coffee. He placed his mug back on the tray, glanced at his watch and said, “I’d better be going.”
Beth wished she could find the words to ask him to stay a little longer. She cursed the wine she’d consumed; it must’ve scrambled her brains. And now she was getting a headache, caused by the combination of the cheap wine and too–strong coffee. Then again, it could’ve been lack of sex. She rubbed her brow.
Gabe stood and offered his hand. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Beth. It’s been… interesting to say the least.”
Beth sprang to her feet. “You don’t have to go!” she cried and cursed herself for sounding so desperate.
“I think I do. You look tired.” He strode towards the front door with Beth hot on his heels.
“Will I see you again?” she asked then realized how pathetic she sounded when he turned towards her. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I asked you that.”
“Would you like to see me again?”
Beth nodded. “Very much so. I’m afraid I didn’t create a very good first impression.”
Gabe lifted her hand in his, sending shivers of pleasure washing through Beth. “Your cooking and company more than made up for the missing tooth,” he said with a smile, then kissed the back of her hand.
Beth’s tongue glued itself firmly to the roof of her mouth as she watched him slowly turn her hand palm up. His warm lips touched her palm, once, twice, three times, and her knees almost buckled under her. When he finally raised his mouth and gazed into her eyes, her palm felt moist, as though he’d touched his t
ongue to it on the last pass. Involuntarily, her eyes closed as she savored the delicious sensations licking up and down her spine and coming to rest at the junction of her thighs. If she wasn’t feeling quite so giddy and didn’t have a grandfather of a headache coming on, she might’ve dragged him upstairs to see what else he could do with his cheeky tongue.
“Goodnight, Beth. I’ll be in touch,” he said and pulled her door closed behind him.
Beth stood looking at the door for a full minute before she started breathing again.
I’ll be in touch, he’d said. What did that mean? Would she have to wait another month until she saw him again? Maybe longer? She couldn’t wait that long. She had to have sex soon or she was going to go crazy.
Mounting the stairs, her feet feeling like great lumps of lead, Beth wondered, maybe she should buy herself a vibrator? After all, it wasn’t so much a man she needed as sexual release. Single friends had suggested she get one if she was looking for uncomplicated sex. They were apparently very happy with theirs. She flopped onto her bed and sighed. Plus, a vibrator could serve its intended purpose just as well as a man and it wouldn’t want her to marry it or make it dinner either.
Maybe there were reviews she could read online about them?
Her head hurt with thinking too much. She turned to her side and curled up, fully clothed and fell asleep on her next breath.
The alarm rang at six. Beth rolled over and groaned. She’d forgotten to switch it off last night and the stupid thing didn’t have brains enough to realize it was Saturday morning! It rang again every five minutes until six thirty–five when she picked it up and threw it at the wall. It didn’t ring again.
She fell into troubled sleeplessness, playing over the events of the previous night in her mind and groaned when she realized what a sex maniac Gabe Hunter must think she was. He was probably telling Tilly every gory detail of their ‘date’ this very minute.
Snuggling under the sheets, Beth cringed at the thought of what a fool she’d made of herself. He was only being nice when he said he’d be in touch. Probably said it so she’d let him escape out the door before she jumped his bones. She supposed she ought to get up and take a shower, not that there was anyone to get up for, but in the back of her mind, she vaguely remembered she was supposed to research something today. Oh, yeah: vibrators.