Prue watched her female companions melt. And she felt a little hot puddle in the center of her being as well.
Where had this man been, she wondered grimly, when she’d been married to him?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GIDEON EXPECTED the shopping experience to be torture. Generally he preferred a casual style, and since he’d left the New York State senate, he’d enjoyed not having to wear a suit or a tux every other night for some charitable or political function or other.
But there was a certain fascination in watching women pick out his clothes. The black turtleneck was pulled over his head, paired with black slacks, topped with a gray jacket, which was pulled off him and exchanged for a beige one. A young male clerk had tried to approach them to help, but the three women were so clearly on a mission and in control that he’d backed off and watched from two aisles over.
Gideon tried on several suits, and even Bruno agreed on a gray Perry Ellis. They paired it with a silver-white shirt and, unable to decide on a tie, chose several.
“But what’ll he wear when she wears that top with the pants?” Georgette asked, talking to herself.
“Slacks and a more casual sweater,” Bruno suggested.
“No,” Prue countered with a smile. “It’s a dinner-club, dancing kind of outfit. He’d be wearing a suit. Only maybe stripped down to the shirt and tie. Or maybe, no tie.”
“That’s it!” Justine agreed. “There’s nothing sexier than a man without his suit coat.”
Bruno, tired of being countermanded, lost interest and walked away.
“What’ll he wear when she wears the cloak?” Georgette asked.
“He has a cashmere coat that’d be perfect,” Prue replied.
“Good. Let’s see.” Georgette’s eyes scanned the racks and counters. “We need suspenders for a shot without the suit coat, an interesting scarf for the winter coat.”
Bruno wandered back to them. “We done here yet?”
Prue dusted off her hands. “I think we are.”
They took everything back to the house—Prue’s designs, Gideon’s clothes and Bruno’s cameras and equipment—and set up a sort of headquarters in the living room. Drifter watched from the safety of the blue wing chair. Gideon smiled privately at the memory of Prue’s careful placement of everything to create the best impression. A lot of the furniture was now shoved aside in the interest of lights, tripods and other things.
Prue made baked chicken for dinner, with Gideon and Justine helping while Georgette and Bruno planned strategy.
Justine told them about her favorite places to eat in London and Seattle.
“It must be nice to be able to go to Langan’s Brasserie all the time,” Prue said, slicing zucchini and onions. “I’ve only seen pictures of its fine art collection and wild lampshades, but it sounds wonderful.”
“I don’t get to go very often,” Justine admitted. “There’s this pub Bruno really likes on Coventry Street, so we usually end up there.”
Gideon, washing and tearing greens, raised an eyebrow at Prue.
“Your lives are a lot about what he likes, aren’t they?” Prue said.
Justine considered that and shrugged. “A lot of the time they are, but only because I don’t insist on my way. I’m sure if I did, he’d take me to Langan’s.”
“You shouldn’t have to insist,” Prue said, scooping the greens off the cutting board and dropping them in a bowl. “He should take you there because he wants to make you happy.”
“I’m happy,” Justine said. “Mostly.”
“If you are,” Prue added, “it’s because you are naturally, not because of him. Because from what I’ve observed, he doesn’t value your opinion.”
“He’s a pro,” she said defensively, “and I’m just…an assistant.”
“Maybe. But he should also value your brain. You seem to have a lot of good ideas.”
Justine appeared surprised by the praise, even unused to it. Then she took her coat off the back of a chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just step out the back and get some fresh air.”
“She seems like such a nice kid,” Gideon said, after Justine had left. “But it sounds as though he treats her like a work slave one minute and a love slave the next.”
Prue nodded. “She was telling me she’s taken lots of photography classes and she thinks when the day comes that she wants to strike out as a photographer, Bruno’s going to make room for her in his studio.”
“I can’t see that happening. I think he likes having her around because she’s adoring and works hard. But he doesn’t like competition. The moment she tries to be his equal, I think the relationship will be over.”
“I think you’re right,” Prue agreed, “but don’t tell her that. I think she’s beginning to see that for herself already.” She opened the oven, pulled out the rack with the chicken and basted it. It was just beginning to brown.
“I miss having dinner at home together,” Gideon said, inhaling the aromas of garlic and butter. “We didn’t have that many quiet evenings at home, I guess, but the ones we had sure stick in my memory. I remember your baked chicken, microwaved popcorn and rented videos, and going to bed early.”
“I do, too.” She pushed the pan back in and closed the door, telling herself the heat in her cheeks was from the oven. “I have a lot of good memories of our life together.”
He was suddenly tired of tiptoeing around the issue. He’d intended to be patient, to do everything in his power to convince her that she’d been wrong about that night in Maine and lure her back to him.
But he’d never been one to dance around an issue. He thought if you were honest, the best course of action was to be direct. What he’d hated most about politics was that his philosophy simply didn’t apply there.
And—partially because of the way he’d set up this scenario with Georgette—honesty didn’t apply here, either. He was beginning to chafe under the strain, and the adventure had barely begun.
He reached into the refrigerator again, this time for the bottle of white zinfandel, and poured two glasses, handing one to Prue. “So, are you convinced it’s over?”
She blinked. Apparently he’d paused too long to think.
“Is what over?” she asked, leaning against the counter to face him. “Thank you.” She toasted him and took a sip.
“Our life together,” he replied, toasting her in return. “Have you given up on it?”
She looked stricken, as though she wasn’t prepared to talk about it. But he considered it hopeful that she didn’t refuse. “I had thought you’d given up on it,” she finally said.
“Because you thought I was fooling around with Claudia. But you said last night you weren’t sure about that anymore.”
“I’m not,” she admitted, looking into his eyes. Then she lowered hers and seemed to be having difficulty saying what was on her mind.
“We used to talk so easily,” he reminded her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking,” she said, pausing to take a sip of wine, “that so much was wrong that last year. That…maybe I jumped to a wrong conclusion because it all seemed to be going to hell. You were never home before midnight, and when you did come home you seldom spoke to me. I pleaded with you to come to Maine with me that weekend, but you couldn’t find the time.”
“I explained that,” he said. “And I’ll be the first to admit that everything took me more time than it should have because I had so much to learn about political life and about getting things done. And I wanted so much to do the right thing for everyone, to validate their trust in me.”
“You sacrificed me for that,” she accused gently.
He nodded his guilt. “I did. I thought you’d see as I did that the working of government was bigger than what happened between us. The trouble is that doing what was right for my job was hard on our family. I was between a rock and a hard place.”
Her eyes grew sad, heavy with the burden of an old pain. “Why didn’t you come a
fter me, Gideon?”
He had to tell her the truth. If they were to clear a foundation to build again, it had to be free of all the old debris. “I followed you back to New York, and when I found out you were in the hospital, I tried to see you, but your friend said you didn’t want to see me. I thought it was a chicken way for you to hide from me.
“Then I began to realize,” he said quietly, “that maybe I’d been right worrying about my constituents first because they voted for me, they trusted me, and it was clear when you ran away and believed the worst that you didn’t.” He sighed. That had been hard to say and probably hard for her to hear. Pain was visible in her eyes, but she drew a breath and held his gaze. “So I finished my term,” he continued, “and figured I had to rebuild my life on my own. I expected every day to be served with divorce papers. Why didn’t you file?”
“I…was broke,” she said, looking away. “Why didn’t you?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. I suppose deep down I didn’t want to give up on us. I sent you the money from the sale of the condo.”
“I know. But that was just a couple of weeks ago. And I’ve had a lot going on since.”
“So you intend to file?”
“I don’t know!” she shrieked at him with sudden violence. “I think yes one day, no the next! I don’t know! I love you and I hate you and I’m so confused I could scream!”
Prue did hear screaming and was shocked to discover it was her. Drifter ran off into the shadows at the back of the house.
Gideon arched an eyebrow and glanced over her head in the direction of his aunt and the photographer, and she could only guess they were staring at them, wondering what on earth was going on, why the blissful couple was fighting.
Oh, God. Had she blown everything?
Gideon cleared his throat. “Well, Prudie. If you have that kind of relationship with the tea shop’s cheesecake, maybe you should try going cold turkey. I don’t think it’s worth all that angst, do you?”
Prue heard conversation begin again between her aunt and Bruno and knew Gideon had saved the moment, using her love-hate relationship with cheesecake as the excuse for her outburst.
She had to smile as she straightened away from the counter and pushed him out of her way so she could get a pan for the green beans. “Thank you,” she said under her breath. “Always the problem solver.”
“I live to serve the princess,” he returned just as quietly.
PRUE AND GIDEON slept in the same bed, dutifully keeping to their own sides. Georgette’s propensity for knocking on the door made it too risky for Prue to sleep on the sofa bed. Besides, Drifter had laid claim to it.
They lay on their backs in the darkness, a body’s width between them, and pretended to sleep. But tension had her wound so tightly, she was sure one false move would shatter her.
“What’s it going to take,” he whispered, “to get you to stop making those little whining sounds?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice. “I’m not whining,” she denied.
“Yes, you are,” he insisted. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? What?”
It irritated her beyond reason that he apparently felt none of the tension she felt. For someone torturing her with questions about whether or not their relationship was over, he seemed completely unaware of her frustration.
She propped up on an elbow and glowered down at him. He probably couldn’t see her in the dark, but she was sure the threat carried in her voice, as well.
“I’m going crazy!” she whispered harshly. “And you’re not helping!” She tried to shove him but he didn’t budge. “I don’t think this is going to work after all, and I can’t just lie here beside you as though…as though…”
Unwilling to say, “As though I’m not still attracted to you, as though I’m not remembering being wrapped in your arms, as though I’m not dying with the need to touch you right now,” she simply jerked to a sitting position and prepared to move to the sofa bed.
But he caught her upper arm and pulled her back to him. She felt the heat of his bare chest through her pajama top and heard herself make that disturbing noise again. “As though you don’t wish we were naked right now,” he asked, his voice velvety and quiet as he spoke right into her ear, “and making love the way we used to.”
She tried to clear her mind to calculate an answer when his hand reached beneath her flannel top and she lost whatever thread of good sense she’d been able to hold on to. His fingers splayed against her in a dearly familiar way, pressing her to him and surrounding her with all those delicious memories.
Her control shattered just as she’d been afraid it would when his hand moved over her, tracing her spinal column, dipping into the elastic band of her pajama bottoms.
“Gideon!” she whispered.
He turned them so that she lay on his supporting arm and he leaned over her, his free hand catching hers and carrying it to his lips. “I’ve heard you say my name in my dreams for a year,” he said. With a tender stroke of her cheek, he added gently, “I’ve missed you, Prue.”
She looped her arms around his neck and drew him down to her. “I’ve missed you, too!” Tears clogged her throat, a new tension threatening. There was so much unresolved. If they made love now, it would only confuse this already complicated game they played. She pushed against him, and to her surprise, he leaned back with a ragged breath.
“We haven’t fixed anything,” she said, expecting him to be angry.
He surprised her again by agreeing. “No, we haven’t.”
“Isn’t that important?”
“To a reconciliation, I’m sure it is,” he replied. “But that’s not what’s going on here, is it? This is just communication. I remember times when we didn’t understand each other on other levels but managed to come together this way.”
She felt a grinding disappointment. “Then this isn’t about love?”
“Damn straight it’s about love,” he corrected, moving closer again, leaning over her as she rested in the crook of his arm. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, and will until the day I die. But in between, we’ve hurt and disappointed each other, and before we ever get together again, we have to fix that. I just don’t know how to reach that place when the words don’t work. Maybe this will do it. Because I do love you.”
The words washed over her like a warm balm. “I love you, too,” she replied, wrapping her arms around him again and holding him close, kissing his shoulder. “I do. I love you!”
THERE’D BEEN TIMES during the past year when he’d been sure he’d never hear those words from her again. He’d managed to suppress the need for them, managed to convince himself that he could go far away and start over without her, but now as she melted in his arms, he knew that wouldn’t happen.
She was home to him, and he had to find the way back into her life.
Even as they undressed each other, he was aware of how this endeavor had changed in purpose from its conception five days ago when his aunt called. His intention had been to get her back, but he hadn’t understood until they’d spent time together how much he’d hurt her even before the Maine Incident she’d so misunderstood.
Now he needed desperately to make it clear how sorry he was that he’d sacrificed her to the job, that he hadn’t made more of an effort to assure her of his feelings and his devotion.
And how much he wanted to bring that portrait of the children above the headboard to life.
Coherent thought left him as they lay side by side, flesh to flesh, for the first time in more than a year. She was cool and silky in his arms and he pulled the blanket up over her to cover her bare shoulder. She huddled closer, rubbing a frigid foot along his calf.
He caught that leg and hitched it up over him, tracing the line of her thigh up and down.
She kissed him hungrily, hotly. He felt her hands roam his back, his spine, then move between them to explore his chest. With a single fingernail she began to blaze a trail downward.
He followed
the line of her thigh and dipped a finger right inside her. She tightened on him at the same moment that her hand closed over him and made him forget all romantic metaphors and remember only that he needed desperately to be inside her.
She lay back against the pillows and drew him to her, apparently needing him inside her as much as he needed to be there.
He entered her with mild trepidation, afraid his eagerness to be there would overpower her own eagerness to have him. It had been a long time.
But she welcomed him, clasped her legs around him, and all the old power came back to fuse them together.
The little whimpers she’d been expelling all night changed into one long, sighing sound of satisfaction.
PRUE FELT like a collection of sequins and rhinestones being twirled and catching the light. Life spun and sparkled and made rainbows all around her. The ultimate solution to all her problems with Gideon didn’t matter if she had this back. Because it had never been just sex between them. It had been deep and significant, hearts and souls meeting, lives being altered every time they touched.
She and Gideon climaxed together, clinging to each other, holding on as long as possible to the memories and the magic they’d recaptured.
Then he lay beside her and tucked her into his shoulder. He pushed the damp hair out of her eyes and pulled the blankets over her again. “You okay? Warm enough?”
“Fine,” she replied, exhausted physically and emotionally. She wrapped an arm around his broad middle and kissed his chest, marveling that after that long, dark year, they’d come back together again as though nothing at all was missing. “Are you okay?”
“Okay hardly says it,” he replied, “but I’m too spent to search for a superlative. Just know that it’s in my heart.”
She put a hand over it, feeling its strong and steady beat.
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