Chapter 14
Peter
Is Gemma fucking insane? What was she thinking, stealing out of the club at 3 a.m.? Who does that?
Well, I guess someone who’s been under virtual house arrest for the past couple months. Even if she was living in the lap of luxury, I can understand why you’d want to get out and breathe in some fresh air, maybe get some sun.
But that’s the thing. It’s 4 a.m. now. There’s no sun because the desert is pitch black except for the stars high above. There are no warm rays to bask in, and no happy glow for a deep tan. So what is she thinking?
But I get it. I knew that something was going to happen, it was just a question of what and when. After all, Gemma is sassy and resourceful, and there was no way she was going to be my personal lady in waiting for the rest of her life.
So I let her go. I knew the moment the girl left our bed, although my snores kept going. I watched from the corner of my eye as she hurriedly slipped on some sweats and sneakers, and stood by the master bed, looking down at me. And I breathed in her sweet scent as she bent down and brushed her lips against my cheek, whispering, “I love you, Peter.”
I almost bolted up right then, my plans be damned. Gemma loves me? My heart pounded so loud and hard that I was sure it was going to give everything away. But if she loves me, why the hell would she leave?
Sure, I haven’t had a chance to tell her about my feelings yet, but give me time. I’m a forty year old guy who’s never experienced these feelings before, so the words don’t come so easy. I’ve been mulling it over in my mind over and over again, and to be honest, I think I’m finally ready. I just hadn’t gotten to saying it quite yet when Gemma decided to make her escape.
Now, look where we are. We glare at each other under the harsh light of the kitchen overhead.
“What is wrong with you?” she demands, clutching a raggedy tomcat close to her ample chest. “Why are you here? What, have you been following me or something?”
I snort. The truth is yes, I have, but I avoid her question.
“Why did you try to escape?” I grunt, my blue eyes seizing her brown ones. Usually, they’re the color of melted caramel, but right now, they’re shooting sparks and flashing light.
“Escape?” she parrots, gripping the cat closer. “What makes you think I was doing that?”
I snort.
“Because you took off at 3 a.m. Only prisoners do prison breaks during the dead of the night, sweetheart,” I say in a dry voice. “You know, you could have told me. I could have given you a ride, if that’s what you wanted.”
Suddenly, realization storms Gemma like a wave. The blood drains from her face and her mouth falls open.
“You knew the entire time, didn’t you?” she demands. “That I was making my getaway?”
I smirk a bit, leaning my big body against the kitchen countertop. A snap sounds and I jerk away, looking down with horror. Man, this place is really sad. The countertop’s made of an aged plastic of some sort, and the light tap with my hip caused a giant crack to appear right at the corner.
“You’re breaking my house!” Gemma screeches. “What in the world? You knew, didn’t you?”
I don’t even try to avoid the question this time, holding up both my hands in a pacifying gesture.
“I knew,” I confirm. “I knew you were taking off, and I wanted to know why. Why would you leave me? Don’t you have everything you need? You can take correspondence courses if you want to go to college. You can keep your apartment. You don’t have to have a job! Isn’t that what all women dream about?”
Gemma’s so angry now that her cheeks go bright red, and I resist the urge to lean forwards and kiss her. That would not be appreciated right now.
“So as I was sneaking out of your suite, walking down the hall, bumping into Mary …” her voice trails off.
“Yep, I knew,” I say cheerily. “Sweetheart, no one leaves the compound without us knowing. We have cameras everywhere, and former Israeli defense forces on staff, tracking all comers and goers.”
“Well, why did you let me go then?” she interrupts, glaring at me. Damn, this girl is even more beautiful when she’s angry, and again, I have to fight back the urge to kiss that delectably pouty mouth. But this is the time to tell the truth, and I need Gemma to know what I’ve been feeling lately.
“I wanted to see if you hated me so much that you’d actually try and escape,” I say in a low voice. “Because I wouldn’t be able to take it if you did, Gem. I love you, sweetheart, and this whole thing has broken my heart.”
She stares at me dumbstruck. At that moment, that raggedy cat Henry decides to wriggle away from Gemma, and he lands in a thump on the floor before disappearing like a flash. Damn, even old felines are fast.
“I’m sorry?” comes her hoarse voice. “What did you say?”
I take one small, limp hand in my own, her pale flesh disappearing between my bronzed fingers.
“I love you, Gemma Kane,” are my simple words. “It’s killing me that you won’t stay with me. It’s killing me that you hate life at the club so much that you’d risk life and limb to come back here,” I say, gesturing to the apartment around us. “It’s not that your place is shabby or anything. I’m just saying that it breaks my heart that you’d sneak out like an escapee, rather than telling me to my face that we’re done.”
She stares at me again, her hand still lifeless between my own. Her mouth opens, but no words come out. I press forward.
“I love you,” are my hoarse words as my heart beats painfully in my chest. “But I understand. You need your freedom, and my love isn’t enough. Besides, doesn’t the old saying say, “If you love something, then let it go?” I love you, Gem,” I say, bringing her hand up to my mouth and pressing a kiss against her pulse. “But I’ll let you go if that’s what you want.”
She begins to sputter and then a bizarre, choked cry comes from her throat.
“But Peter - ” she manages between some weird-sounding coughs. Alarmed, I give her a good thump or two on the back.
“You okay, sweetheart?” are my concerned words. “Oh shit. I hope you’re not dying or anything. Oh shit. Do I need to call 9-1-1?”
She shakes her head, holding a finger up even as the coughing begins to subside. There are tears in her eyes, and I want to kill myself for making her cry. Oh shit. I’m such a fucking bastard.
But then a choked laugh interrupts my panic, and I realize that she’s not crying. She’s half-laughing, half-crying, and that’s the source of these weird choking sounds.
“What is it?” I say. “What the hell is going on?”
“Peter,” she manages between wheezy gasps. “I love you too. I only came back for my cat. I wanted to say hello to Henry, and make sure he’s okay. You know, he only recovered from cat cancer last year, and I had to be sure he was healthy and happy. I was never going to leave you permanently.”
I stare at my beautiful girl with my mouth hanging open. Gemma risked life and limb for a cat? This whole thing had nothing to do with me? She smiles sweetly then, while slinging her arms around my neck.
“Of course this has to do with you,” she says, reading my mind. “I love you Peter Carmichael, but there’s more to life than hot sex 24/7. There’s more to life than hanging out and getting my hair done every day. I have a life, Peter, and I have to live it. I’m hoping with you,” she says, brushing her lips over mine.
I breathe in deeply, letting my eyes close for a second. But then they snap open, and I take in the curvy brunette, letting my gaze run over every inch of her form.
“You’ll have it,” I vow. “Whatever you want, sweetheart, I’ll make it happen. You want to live up here, in this apartment? We’ll make it happen. You want to go to college? That’s fine by me because I love you Gemma, and I can’t let you go. Wherever you go, I go too,” I vow fiercely, crushing that soft form to mine.
She brushes her lips delicately over my earlobe, and the sensuality makes my body harden immediately. But then she leans back and shoots me that sassy smile I love so much.
“Wherever we live, can I take Henry?” she asks sweetly. “You did say “whatever I want,” right?”
I groan again before claiming her mouth with mine and ravenously plundering what belongs to me. Because I’ve realized what matters and what doesn’t. It doesn’t make sense to keep someone locked up in a hideout, even if it’s the most glamorous club ever. It pays to listen to what she wants, and to respond to what she says. And it doesn’t matter if I’m forty and this is all new to me. That’s just a lame excuse. My old habits of staying mum and letting the woman spin in circles almost did me in, and now, I know what I want. My woman, my heart, my desire are all here in Gemma Kane … and it’s time to claim my virgin for keeps.