Gina was stunned that her friend would put that interpretation on her request and she gasped as she met Twyla's icy glare. "I didn't mean—" she began.
Twyla combed her long slender fingers through her loosely bound auburn hair. "I know," she said gruffly. "I overreacted, I'm sorry."
Gina looked at her friend thoughtfully. Twyla had never snapped at her like that before, and she certainly never lacked for male admirers. She turned down more dates than she accepted, so why was she so sensitive about offering Stewart a little moral support when he needed it? After all Twyla and Stewart had been friends before Gina ever arrived on the scene. In fact it was Twyla who introduced Stewart to Gina.
Gina frowned. Was she missing something here? Had Twyla and Stewart been more than just friends before Gina arrived?
No, she decided, there had never been any indication of a deeper, more intimate relationship between them. Twyla had been delighted when Stewart began seeing a lot of Gina, and later she had urged Gina to accept Stewart's proposal of marriage.
Twyla rummaged through her purse and lifted out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and her gold lighter, a sure sign she was troubled. Twyla seldom smoked unless she was upset, but then she lit one cigarette after another. Gina valued the older woman's friendship too highly to let it be strained by pride or lack of communication.
She took a deep breath and said, "Twyla, am I being dense? Did you and Stewart have something going between you before I—"
Twyla inhaled deeply and blew smoke into the clean fresh air before she answered. "Not really. Stewart and I started going together shortly after I came out here. It lasted for several months, but the wounds from his divorce were still raw, and I was determined not to get seriously involved again with any man. We drifted apart by mutual consent and I told myself I was being smart, independent, the liberated woman."
She took another puff of her cigarette. "I'm still telling myself that so let's change the subject."
"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Gina blurted.
"Gina…" Twyla snapped as she ground her cigarette out in the ashtray. "Yes, I suppose I am," she admitted, "but what I decide to do about it is strictly my own business. I don't need your advice or your interference."
Twyla rose and walked rapidly down the redwood steps and across the street.
Gina sat rooted to the chair, frozen with shock. Twyla was in love with Stewart! How could she, Gina, possibly not have known? She and Twyla were so close. Twyla, her art teacher, had been the rock that anchored her during those first grim months at the University of Maryland. Twyla, with her salty banter and warm strength, had provided the tormented teenager with a renewed assurance of her worth as a person and her talent as an artist. And how had Gina repaid her?
Gina shuddered and leaned back wearily. Why hadn't Twyla mentioned her brief affair with Stewart before? She'd simply introduced him as her friend and they'd never shown any romantic interest in each other. At least not in the three years Gina had been in Mendocino.
Stewart's legal residence was San Francisco. He owned a lovely home on a hill overlooking the city and until a year ago had only used the mountain home as a summer vacation cabin. It wasn't until he started courting Gina in earnest that he began spending both summer and winter there. Twyla had seemed genuinely pleased when they'd announced their engagement. Either she was an excellent actress or Gina had been blind and unfeeling.
She stood and gathered up her purse and the sack containing the still warm bread. No, she thought, it wasn't lack of perception on her part. Even with Gina, Twyla would reveal only the feelings she wanted revealed.
Gina spent the weekend trying to get in touch with Twyla, but she had apparently left town. Her house was locked, her telephone rang unanswered and at Gallery By The Sea her employees would only say that she had told them she wouldn't be in till Monday.
Gina alternately condemned and defended herself. Couldn't she ever do anything right? She'd only wanted to love Peter and he'd wound up hating her. She'd tried to spare Stewart and instead she'd hurt him dreadfully. She'd been insensitive to Twyla's feelings and had managed to alienate her closest friend.
Why was she making such a mess of everything? She'd made it plain to all concerned that she wanted to divorce Peter and marry Stewart. It's true she should have married him months ago, but the only reason she hadn't was because she'd been afraid to make herself that vulnerable to a man again. As for Peter, she'd left no doubt in his mind that she wanted to be free of him.
But if that was true why did she come running every time he beckoned, and why did she melt when he kissed her?
Her thoughts twisted and turned and spun in circles, leaving her with a pounding head, a queasy stomach and an overpowering desire to sleep and forget everything.
That was the reason she turned off her alarm on Sunday night and didn't waken until the doorbell chime lulled her to consciousness at ten o'clock on Monday morning. She jumped out of bed and felt dizzy, disoriented by the depth of her slumber. Who could that be? It was later than she usually slept but since it was her day off it wasn't likely to be anyone from the gallery.
She quickly pulled her blue- and white-checked cotton short robe over her matching nightie and glanced at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, her hair was disheveled and her lips looked full, as though they'd been thoroughly kissed. The doorbell chimed again and she walked through the apartment barefoot as she snapped shut the large ornamental snaps down the front of her robe.
The bell chimed a third time and she called, "I'm coming, I'm coming," as she swung the door open. "For heaven's sake must you make so much…"
The rest of the sentence died on her lips as her sleep-filled eyes finally focused on Peter Van Housen looking like one of those liquor ads picturing the handsome young executive at play, only he wasn't holding a drink in one hand.
He grinned. "Are you always so grumpy in the mornings?"
"Only when I'm wakened out of a sound sleep," she snapped. "What do you want?" She wished he wouldn't stand there looking so darn sexy in charcoal slacks and a blue pullover sweater that matched his eyes.
"For starters I'd like to come in…" he began, then his eyes narrowed and his expression hardened. "Or aren't you alone?"
"Of course I'm alone," she yawned. "I told you, I've been sleeping—"
The full meaning of his question finally hit her and she gasped. "My bed partners or lack of them are none of your business but yes, this morning I did happen to be sleeping alone. Now if you'll excuse me—"
She started to slam the door shut but he put his hand out and held it open as he walked into the narrow entryway and closed it behind him.
Gina turned to walk away but he caught her by the arms and held her while his gaze roamed over her face. "Your bed partners most definitely are my business, but my remark was uncalled for and I apologize. You aren't awake enough yet to fake this kind of innocent indignation."
He pulled her closer and the look on his face softened as he whispered, "Do I get a good morning kiss?"
The question was irrelevant because he didn't wait for an answer but covered her slightly parted lips with his own. Gina closed her eyes and swayed toward him as the impact of his nearness, his touch, swamped her. He smelled fresh, like the sea breeze, and although his lips were warm his face was cool and clean-shaven.
He turned his head slightly and murmured against the side of her mouth. "If I kiss you the way I want to I won't be able to stop. Will you let me share your bed this morning, Gina?"
She wanted to say yes, to press her body against his and feel the excitement of his hard maleness against her, to let him know by her rhythmic movements of her desire for him. Why not? Why shouldn't she let him make love to her when they both wanted it so much?
Because, you little idiot, a cold voice within her warned, it wouldn't be making love, it would be having sex. Do you want that?
Her body cried, yes, anything, but for once her mind won out. She pul
led away from him and leaned against the wall, her hands clasped in front of her to still their trembling. She wasn't as successful with her voice and it quivered as she said, "I invited you to share my bed once and you told me I wasn't good enough to be your lover. Well now I don't want you, Peter, so keep your hands off me."
He watched her through half-closed eyes as he said, "You're lying to yourself, sweetheart, but I'll give you time to face the truth. Just don't make me wait too long, I don't think I can stand the frustration."
Since it was obvious that Peter had no intention of leaving just yet Gina asked him to make the coffee while she went back into the bedroom and dressed. It was a cool cloudy morning that smelled of rain and she pulled on a pair of purple corduroy slacks and a long-sleeved lilac blouse that did interesting things to her eyes. She looked a little more wide-awake after she bathed her face in cold water and she decided not to bother with make-up except for lip gloss in a shade called plum pink.
Peter had the coffee ready when she returned to the kitchen. She asked if he wanted breakfast and he explained that he'd had his some time ago, but if she could wait an hour or so longer to eat he'd take her out to lunch.
They took their coffee to the living room and sat together on the sofa that faced the picture window with a full view of the bay. Gina's left hand lay in her lap as she held her mug in the other one. Peter took a swallow of his coffee then glanced over at her and stiffened. His fingers clamped around her wrist and he raised her hand as he said, "You're still not wearing your ring. Surely it doesn't take this long to tighten the stone."
Gina was so startled by his abrupt movement that she almost spilled her coffee, and she balanced her mug on the wide flat arm of the sofa before she spoke. "I—I gave it back to Stewart."
He also set his mug down and moved his hand so he could twine his fingers with hers. "Does this mean you're going to withdraw your petition for dissolution and come home with me where you belong?" His voice was tight, almost harsh.
Gina pulled her hand away from him. "No, it most certainly does not. It just means that I'm too fond of Stewart to keep him waiting months, or even years, while you play games with the law."
"Fond of him?" Peter sneered. "You were planning to marry him just because you were fond of him?"
Gina flared at Peter. "No way," she said heatedly. "I love Stewart. Oh, not with the wildness that I once loved you, but my feelings for Stewart are a lot deeper and more permanent and that's why I couldn't keep him in that purgatory you arranged for us."
Peter was watching her closely. "And was Stewart pleased? Did he thank you for releasing him from the engagement?"
She lowered her eyes. "No," she murmured as the memory of the scene two nights before brought back the pain. "No," she repeated, more to herself than to Peter, "he didn't thank me. I hurt him badly, but do you know what he did? He comforted me. That's the kind of man Stewart is."
Peter rubbed the nape of his neck in a gesture of agitation. "Why did you need comforting, Gina?"
The tears she'd been so determined not to shed fell softly down her pale cheeks. "B-because I couldn't bear knowing what I was doing to him. I c-cried and he held me and told me to save my tears for myself because I'd need them if I got mixed up with you again."
She put her face in her hands and sobbed, and then she was in Peter's arms, crying into his shoulder. He held her gently, as though afraid of frightening her away, and murmured, "Why does it upset you so when you hurt Stewart? It doesn't bother you at all when you torment me."
Gina raised her head and looked at him, wide-eyed with amazement. "Torment you? I couldn't possibly torment you. You have to care about someone in order to be hurt by them and you never cared about me."
He closed his eyes and a spasm of emotion momentarily twisted his features as he pulled her roughly against him and buried his face in her dark hair. "You're a self-deceiving little fool if you believe that," he muttered thickly. "I nearly went out of my mind after Mel Calicutt identified that picture. For months I went around in a haze of agony. I don't even remember what I did during that time, only the pain."
His arms tightened around her and his voice took on a savage tone. "I'll never let you or any other woman do that to me again, Gina, so don't taunt me about not caring. You're right, I don't. I don't care about anything but protecting myself from your brand of loving."
Gina put her arms around Peter's neck and held him as she continued to sob. But her tears were no longer for Stewart; they were for the Ginny Lea and Peter of seven years ago who had been too young and immature to survive the holocaust that tore away their innocence and left them irreparably scarred.
Chapter Eight
For a long time they sat clasped in each other's arms, drawing comfort from their intimate but passionless contact. The only sound in the room was an occasional sob as Gina let her tears flow freely.
Finally the sobs stilled and the tears ceased. Peter reached in his pocket for a handkerchief and dabbed at her brimming violet eyes. "We're not going to cry anymore over the past, Gina," he said softly. "From now on we'll direct all our energy toward making a bright and happy future."
The corners of her mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile and he bent his head and kissed her gently. Her hands stroked the back of his neck and he shivered and deepened the kiss, parting her lips and caressing them with his tongue. All of Gina's resistance had dissolved with her tears and she savored the taste and the feel and the scent of him.
He licked the moisture from her cheeks and brushed her closed eyelids with his lips as his hand cupped her breast through the silky material of her blouse. He tipped his head back and smiled at her. "You never used to wear a bra."
She smiled back. "I filled out as I got older."
"I'd noticed," he murmured as he stroked the taut fullness he cradled. "At eighteen you were a tantalizing adolescent with the promise of great beauty. You've fulfilled that promise, you're exquisite, but you've also matured into a woman of charm and passion. A woman I want for my own."
Like a valuable art object that you can brag about and show off to your friends, she thought bitterly as she undraped her arms from around his neck and placed her hands, palm up, against his chest to hold him away. "I don't want to be your woman, Peter," she said, and almost added, I want to be your love, but bit the words off in time.
He kissed the tip of her nose. "We'll see," he promised and released her. "Now go wash your face and put on a little make-up so people won't think I've been beating you and we'll go to lunch. I have something I want to show you."
They drove up Main Street and headed south on the coast highway. As they passed the small communities of Little River and Albion, Gina began to wonder where they were, going since from there on the tiny towns were few and far between. She was just about to ask Peter when they came to the bottom of a gradual dip in the highway and he turned off onto a narrow road that led through the grove of pines and eucalyptus trees to a white sandy beach. Just before they drove out of the trees and onto the beach he turned again, this time into a long driveway that led to a rambling two story redwood home.
Peter stopped the car in front of the house and Gina turned to look at him. "Where are we? This is a private home, surely we're not having lunch here."
"Oh but we are," he said as he opened the door and got out.
He came around and took her hand as she stepped out of the car. The house was even larger than she'd first thought, and the forest setting with its smell of pine and cedar, its ground cover of low-growing fern and vines, and its towering trees was peaceful in its natural beauty.
Peter continued to hold her hand as they walked up the path strewn with pine needles and wood chips to the five wooden steps that led up to the covered porch which stretched halfway across the front of the building. Gina stood by speechless as he selected a key from his key ring and inserted it in the lock on the heavy oak door. It swung open without protest to reveal a brown-, tan- and gold- tiled entry hall.
He grinned and once more took her by the hand and pulled her inside. "Not to worry, love. Hasn't it occurred to you that since I have a key I must also have a right to entry?"
She was too busy gaping to answer. To her right was a library with floor-to-ceiling books lining its walls, to her left was a spacious kitchen with sparkling maple cabinets and sunny yellow appliances. Both rooms opened wide onto the entryway but could be closed off with hidden sliding doors. Straight ahead of her was a green-carpeted living room with a wall of glass that looked out over the blue ocean with its foaming whitecaps that washed up on the vast expanse of silvery beach.
Gina walked over to the wall and gasped. Directly outside was a redwood deck that was accessible through a sliding glass door. There were deeply padded lounges, a large round umbrella table with four white wrought-iron chairs, and an electric barbecue grill built into a brick fireplace. There was plenty of room for more furniture should the need arise.
Peter came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. "Do you like it?" There was a note of urgency in his voice, as if her answer was most important.
"Oh, I love it!" she exclaimed. "That panoramic view of the ocean and the beach is magnificent! Who is the lucky person who has the incredible good fortune to own this place?"
He pulled her back against him and rubbed his cheek in her hair. "We do," he said simply.
Gina felt as though an electric current had run through her and she stiffened. "I beg your pardon?" she choked out.
"We own It, Gina, you and I together."
She pulled out of his embrace and walked a few steps away before turning to face him. "That's not possible," she muttered. "There's no way I could ever buy half interest in this property."
He gestured impatiently. "Don't be dense, I bought it and had it put in both our names. It's our home, yours and mine, and I want you to live here with me."
If Ever I Loved You Page 9