by Renee Roszel
Thunder cracked again muffling David’s response. Gina had a feeling it was just as well. She cautioned, “You’re going to be civil, aren’t you? Paul didn’t sound too thrilled to do this, so be pleasant.”
David decided he’d had enough cat-sitting for a while. Just knowing that Paul was dropping by set his teeth on edge, and he felt the need to move, to pace, throw something. Deciding the cat would be better off out of his reach, he carried it into the living area and put it on his easy chair. So completely blissful, the stray had become nothing but a trusting lump of fur. When he was deposited on the chair, he conformed to the cushions as though the chair had been made for its thin carcass, and went instantly back to sleep—purring.
“How long is he going to be here?” David asked as evenly as he could manage, though jealousy was hammering like a fist in his belly.
“He offered to fix the oven,” Gina explained, following him into the living room. “He’s a sweet man. Don’t growl at him.”
David faced her, his eyes narrowed and glittering. “I won’t growl. I never growl,” he growled.
She shook her head, frowning. “I won’t have you browbeating my friends.”
“I don’t browbeat, either,” he protested. “I’ll be the perfect host.” He paced to the door that led to the lighthouse tower and then back before he added, “Gina, couldn’t you at least go put on a bra?”
She bristled. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
He closed his eyes, his jaw working in agitation. After a minute he mumbled, “It’s a request, damn it. You—you have—nice breasts. I’m not the only man who thinks so, either. I’m sure parcels will soon be piling up on the doorstep, if I read that deliveryman’s face right. And unless you’re ready to have sex with Paul, don’t go braless in front of him.
She opened her mouth to protest, but something stopped her. She told herself it wasn’t the fact that he’d just complimented her. She didn’t want to be responsive to his gallantries, anymore. No, she insisted her refusal to lash out at him came from a remote, logical part of her brain that agreed with him. She did look a little … wanton, maybe. She’d actually give herself pause a time or two when she’d passed a mirror and had seen her bouncy reflection. If it had been anyone but David sharing the lighthouse with her, she would never have dared to go around so unconfined. Though she didn’t like it, she decided to relent on this one point.
With a defiant toss of her head, she marched toward the bedroom. “Well, maybe I’m not quite ready to have sex with him,” she offered tersely before she disappeared to alter her appearance for company.
When she’d gone, David breathed a low sigh of relief—not so much because she’d done what he’d asked, but because she’d admitted that she wasn’t quite ready to jump into bed with Paul. It was a small triumph, but it would have to do.
Walking over to the inert cat, he knelt down. Stroking its emaciated body, he mumbled, “So—Lump, what fickle female ripped off your tail?”
IT WAS ALMOST AN HOUR later when there was a halting rap on the lighthouse door. Gina was leafing through her folder of treasured old lighthouse stories. It had been raining continuously, which had probably slowed Paul’s progress. As she put her folder aside, David looked up from his easy chair. Lumper, as they’d decided to call the stray, was once again snuggled in his lap.
Wordlessly, it was decided that Gina would get the door. David, apparently, was going to try to behave.
As the door swung open, Gina’s pleasant greeting froze on her lips as she beheld Paul, soaked, mud-spattered and pale. “Good gracious, Paul!” she cried, distressed. “What happened to you?”
He sagged against the doorjamb, his arms clutching a soggy grocery bag.
“Mason’s Bridge—it fell in—I was on it when it went down.”
By this time, David had joined Gina at the door and was taking Paul’s bag from his rigid arms. He set the wet sack down and with a gentle tug on the man’s shoulder urged him inside. “What happened to your car?” he asked, once the door was closed.
Paul stared at nothing in particular. “In the gorge. I just had time to scramble out of it and make a flying dash to the side before the whole thing crumbled into nothing.”
Gina was stunned. “And you took time to save the cat litter?”
He looked at her, uncomprehending.
She indicated the grocery bag. A sack of cat litter was protruding from its rim.
His lips twitched in a sorry grin. “I didn’t even realize I grabbed it. I have no idea why I did. Stupid.” He shook his head, his blond hair, plastered to his face, dripping, making him look as though he were crying.
Gina took him by the elbow. “Paul, you go right into the bedroom and take a warm shower. I’m sure David can find something for you to wear. Meanwhile, I’ll call Maryvale’s sheriff’s office and let them know about the bridge being out.”
Twenty minutes later, Paul was dry, looking uncomfortably Yuppie-like in a pair of David’s twill slacks and a mauve dress shirt. The slacks had had to be rolled up at the hem, and they were a bit snug at Paul’s waist, but they were dry. He padded around in a pair of mauve socks. His strained expression told Gina and David that he’d never worn mauve and he’d be damned if he ever would again. David tried not to be amused. After all, Paul had had a rough time of it.
Gina had taken the sodden sack into the kitchen and retrieved the litter, the cat box, and put away the cat food. All that was left on the counter was the piece to repair the oven.
When Paul entered the kitchen, she smiled at him, remarking, “I can’t believe you grabbed this sack as you were saving yourself.”
Paul blushed furiously at her compliment. “Guess it’s a holdover from my high school football days. You know, snag the pass and then make a dive for the goal.”
Gina laughed gaily. Behind Paul, David scowled as she declared, “You were a quarterback? I always had terrible crushes on my high school’s quarterbacks.”
David’s scowl deepened. Not only had he never been a quarterback, he’d never even gone to a school with a football team. Even today, he was at a loss when football was being discussed.
“What would you like for dinner, Paul, since you’re the guest of honor—hero of the day, so to speak.”
Paul grinned shyly. “Oh, I’m no hero.”
“Oh, yes, you are,” Gina countered, motioning toward where Lumper was heading—to the corner where the litter box had been set up. “Need I say more?”
This time Paul chuckled. It had a far too intimate and satisfied ring to it for David’s taste. He cleared his throat, “Where’s that oven part, Paul? I’ll get it fixed and we can have baked fish.”
Gina looked a little surprised. “You’re going to fix the oven, David?”
He pinned her with a severe gaze. “Why not? I’m a physicist.”
She smirked. “I don’t think the job requires altering the oven’s atomic makeup. Paul was given instructions, let him do it.”
“Don’t you think I can handle a simple job like this?”
She stared at him for a moment before she shrugged with indifference. “Okay, go ahead and try—just promise to pay for the part if another one has to be ordered. And that goes for the whole oven, if you ruin it.”
“I’ll help,” Paul offered unenthusiastically.
“Don’t bother,” Gina protested, taking him by the arm. “Let’s go listen to the weather report. Maybe they’ll say something about how long it will take to repair Mason’s Bridge.”
“What did the sheriff say?” David picked up the antenna-shaped piece of black metal with wires protruding from its narrowed end, and frowned at it.
“They can’t even begin to repair it until the rain stops,” Gina called back.
“Damn,” David cursed below his breath. That probably meant Paul would be their guest for at least one night. God forbid that it be more. David only had three weeks left to win Gina back, and another man’s presence would throw a monkey wrench into his plans.
As David fiddled with the oven, managing to get nothing much accomplished but skinning his knuckles, and losing the lighthouse’s only screwdriver behind the refrigerator, he could hear Gina and Paul talking in confidential tones. David was suffering in Jealous Man’s Hell—a hell he’d made for himself. Pride had shoved him into trying to show Gina how handy he was. But if, after ten years of marriage, she hadn’t gotten an inkling about his handiness, or lack of it—as was becoming apparent as far as oven repair was concerned—then she never would! Stupid! Jealous! Arrogant! Idiot! That’s all he was proving to her—that he was a stupid, jealous, arrogant idiot!
“How’s it coming in there, Mr. Goodwrench?” Gina goaded from the door after ten minutes. “Fish about done?”
“Very funny,” he muttered, pulling his head out of the oven. “Okay—so I can’t fix ovens. I admit it.”
Gina was grinning at him. “Now, there’s a news bulletin.” She motioned for Paul to come in. “Could you try it? I’m getting hungry.”
Twenty minutes later, Paul had pulled out the oven, disconnected some wires, connected some others and replaced the oven. Once the electricity was back on, they tested it. Much to David’s chagrin, it worked perfectly.
“That’s great, Paul,” Gina gushed, irking David.
“It was nothing,” Paul insisted. “Clute wrote down every step for me. Otherwise I’d have been lost, too.”
David couldn’t help but think that having written instructions might have been a real help for him—had he known they were on the premises. Valiantly he resisted mentioning that.
“You’re being modest,” Gina protested.
He’s being a jerk! David mused irritably. But he managed to ask in an easy, friendly manner, “How about those fish, now?”
“Good idea,” Gina agreed. “Paul? What about you and me making a salad.”
“Salad?” David queried, turning to look at her, his expression thunderstruck. “You don’t eat salads.”
She laughed. “I don’t have to eat it. It’s for Paul. He loves salads.”
David, exasperated, turned back to the refrigerator, pulling from it the wrapped fish. “I’d hate myself if Paul didn’t get his damned salad!” he muttered.
“What?” Paul asked as he crossed the center line to get the salad makings from the refrigerator.
David’s smile was polite, if somewhat stiff. “I was just saying we ought to put some chocolate-covered mints in it. That way Gina might enjoy some salad, too.”
Both Paul and Gina laughed at David’s joke. Unfortunately, David wasn’t in the mood to join them.
IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT. Gina was uncomfortable about having to go to bed with David—albeit a divided bed—while Paul was there. She’d kept the men up playing Scrabble games until she wasn’t alert enough to fathom how to come up with a word when all the letters she had left were A and R and there was a perfectly usable C on the board.
Paul stifled a yawn.
“Why don’t we call it an evening?” David suggested exhaustedly. It was apparent why Gina had been urging them to play game after game. He’d gone along with her for a while, but it was getting ridiculous.
“Just one more?” Gina pleased. “I feel a winning streak coming on.”
Paul stifled another yawn, this time not quite so successfully. “No, thanks. I’m beat. I guess my dash on the bridge took a lot out of me.”
Good. Bring it up again, Mr. Heroic Quarterback, David mused wearily. Gathering up the game pieces, he offered, “I’ll get some bedding for you, Paul.”
“Thanks.” Paul stood and stretched.
“I’m afraid the sofa’s a little lumpy. And not nearly long enough for you,” Gina commented. “Why don’t you share the bed with David?”
Her husband had just returned to the door, his arms full of sheets a pillow and blanket, when she made her offer. He froze to the spot. “Not likely, damn it!” he shot back.
Gina grimaced, hating his quick, harsh show of proprietorship. “Let’s not air our dirty linen, David. Be reasonable.”
He paced across the room and dumped the bedding on the sofa before he turned to confront her. “Have you forgotten your back?”
She had, for a moment. But was that his reason or did he just want Paul to see who “possessed” her? Her anger flaring, she suggested, “Well, why don’t you sleep on the couch, and Paul and I can share the bed!”
As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she was horrified at herself. She hadn’t meant that—hadn’t meant it to come out the way it had. She bit her lip, wishing she could take it back.
Paul broke into a fit of embarrassed coughing.
David simply stared, his face suddenly drawn and severe.
“I—I shouldn’t have said that,” she admitted weakly. I meant—er…”
“Say,” Paul interjected, taking up the bedding. “I’ll just make myself a bedroll on the floor right here. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh—okay…” Gina cast him a grateful look. “See you in the morning….”
David, his teeth clamped together, managed a pained smile, nodded his good-night and went into the bedroom.
Gina followed, her feet leaden. She’d hurt David with that thoughtless remark. What was worse, the idea of sleeping with Paul had never entered her mind. Sure, she didn’t plan to be married to David any longer than necessary, but she’d never intended to inflict deliberate pain on him by letting him think that she would prefer sleeping with other men!
Once she’d closed the bedroom door, she turned toward David, who was silently unbuttoning his shirt, his back toward her. “I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking when I said that.”
He said nothing. There was no sound but for the incessant rain pounding on the roof.
“You do believe me, don’t you? I would never intentionally embarrass or humiliate you.”
Slowly, he shifted to confront her, and her breath caught harshly in her throat when she saw the misery that shimmered in his eyes.
6
Gina flinched. She had never seen her husband so upset before, though he had quickly averted his gaze. Wondering about the wisdom of her actions, she moved to encircle his waist with her arms. David had a terrific need to be in control, and had many times manipulated her tender emotions to get his way. She didn’t understand why he needed to dominate, and she wished he would be more open and honest about his feelings. But right now, she didn’t believe he was being controlling. He was truly hurt and trying to hide it. Her heart constricting with guilt over her hasty words, she pressed her cheek to his chest, whispering. “David, I don’t want to sleep with Paul. It never entered my mind. Please forget that stupid remark.”
Her unexpected effort at comforting him had brought hope leaping into his soul, but he didn’t dare touch her, pull her hard and carelessly against him, or sweep her up and carry her to the bed as he so wanted to do. He didn’t dare move. Yet, he knew his traitorous heartbeat was revealing his longing for her.
Gina felt his quickened heartbeat, felt the evidence of his desire, but somehow she couldn’t back away, couldn’t retreat into the safety of her determination to leave him. Though she knew he wanted her, she was also aware that he was making no move to take her. For some odd reason, that bothered her as much as it comforted her. Being close to him, her face pressed against the reassuring mat of his chest hair—his inviting, familiar and sensual scent-something deep inside her resisted pulling away.
Instead, she clung to his solid torso, and her wayward hands began to explore the strong, long-cherished contours of his back. After an indulgent moment, she lifted her gaze to his face, for it seemed that he had stopped breathing. When their eyes met, his expression was confused, yet his eyes were bright with gentle yearning. She couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the sweet longing—not his, and not hers. She couldn’t stand the fact that she’d wounded him. And foolish though it was, she couldn’t stand giving him hope and then dashing that hope. She promised herself this would be the last
time. One parting interlude in his arms. Her voice an emotion-roughened whisper, she said, “There’s a crazy part of me that will always love you—no matter what. If you want to make love to me tonight—” she paused, her smile faint and reticent “—then it’s all right with me.”
His eyes were suddenly masked by lowered lashes, but his gaze drifted over her face for a long, silent moment. With deliberate movements, he took hold of her arms and slid from her embrace. Gina wasn’t even wholly aware of what had happened until he had stepped away from her, and she felt the coolness of his absence. His expression had gone from gentle and hopeful to harsh, almost distasteful.
“Don’t do me any favors,” he whispered. “Unless you want to come back to me, don’t throw me sexual crumbs.” With that, he left her, retreating to his side of the bed, which was hidden behind the hanging blanket. She could hear buttons fly as he literally tore his shirt from his body. There was a muffled thud as his trousers hit a wall, and then she saw the bed shudder as he dropped heavily onto it.
She felt sick to her stomach, left standing there alone, frustrated and confused. As the rain howled its scorn, she slowly regained the ability to move. Slumping dejectedly, she allowed a forlorn tear to slide down her cheek and she smiled tiredly. So, this was how it felt to be rejected? It was like a kind of death.
MORNING CAME with the detonation of heaven-splitting thunder. Gina woke abruptly from a bad dream. Shaking the sleep from her eyes, she realized her dream had stemmed from David’s rejection last night—something she’d brought on herself. In her dream, he had continued to reject her, running from her, flying away, even disintegrating into thin air. Feeling oddly fatigued, she decided it would be wise to forget the night and face the day. When she sat up, it struck her that any dream where David was leaving her should be refreshing and—good. She frowned at the irony.
Movement caught her eye and she noticed that Lumper’s backside and abbreviated tail protruded from the blanket that divided the bed. Seeking small comfort, she stroked his shank. He stretched, stood and disappeared beneath the divider, deserting her. “So, you’re rejecting me, too,” she mumbled sleepily. “Okay. You men stick together if you must. See if I care!”