Stephanie Bond – Real Men: Rugged Rebels: Watch and Learn / Under His Skin / Her Perfect Hero (страница 1)

Rugged

REBELS

Stephanie BOND

Jeanie LONDON

Kara LENNOX

www.millsandboon.co.uk

WATCH AND LEARN

Stephanie BOND

About the Author

STEPHANIE BOND was seven years deep into a computer career and pursuing a master’s degree at night when an instructor remarked she had a flair for writing and encouraged her to submit to academic journals. Once the seed was planted, however, Stephanie immediately turned to creating romance fiction in her spare time.

She now writes for Mills & Boon® Blaze®, having gained notoriety for her spicy romantic comedies. Stephanie lives with her husband in Atlanta, Georgia, her laptop permanently attached to her body. Readers can write to her at PO Box 54266, Atlanta, GA 30308, USA or through her website.

This book is dedicated to all the people at my

publisher behind the scenes, who work so hard

to bring so many great books to readers all

over the world.

1

GEMMA WHITE LOVED to make love in the morning. When the sheets were warm from lazy limbs, when muscles were rested and revived, when the day was yet a possibility. Morning lovemaking was an act reserved for the lucky few—new lovers who ignored the impulse to sneak out in the middle of the night, live-in lovers who still enjoyed waking up together, and married lovers wise enough to take advantage of a time when both partners’ bodies were primed for passion.

Gemma smiled and rolled over, sliding a loving hand toward Jason’s side of the bed. But when her fingers encountered cold emptiness, her eyes flew open and reality descended with a crash.

Jason was gone.

The desire that had pooled in her belly ebbed as sadness, temporarily banished by the cleansing arm of sleep, swamped her chest. The humiliation and shock of his departure hadn’t lessoned over the past few weeks and, if anything, had become more embedded in her heart, like sets of bicycle tracks through fresh mud that had dried into an ugly, permanent cast.

Would mornings ever feel right again?

The wail of the phone pierced the air. She closed her eyes, cursing the person on the other end for intruding on her moment of misery. After four teeth-rattling rings, the phone fell silent … then started up again. Resigned, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for the handset.

“Hello?” she murmured into the mouthpiece.

“Are you up?” her best friend Sue demanded.

“Yes.”

“Literally out of bed and walking around?”

Gemma pushed to her feet. “Absolutely.”

“What’s on the agenda today?”

“Um.” Gemma turned on a light and glanced around the cluttered bedroom. Dirty clothes occupied every surface. The floor was littered with at least two boxes of tissues crumpled into balls. “I thought I might … clean.”

“Good. You want everything to look great in case you have company.”

“Are you coming to Tampa?” Gemma asked, panicked. She wasn’t ready to deal with the full frontal assault of Sue’s personality. Her friend would roll into town from Tallahassee like a tank, armed with endless pep talks. But Gemma was too raw, too exposed, to deal with her failed marriage so matter-of-factly, over cups of frothy coffee and shoe shopping. She needed time to reorient herself.

“I can’t get away from work right now,” Sue said. “I meant in case Jason stops by.”

Gemma tightened her grip on the phone. “Have you seen him? Is he coming here?”

“No, I haven’t seen him. But in case he does drop by, you and the house need to look your best.”

As if the divorce hadn’t fazed Gemma. It was, after all, antifeminist to behave as if her husband’s desertion had devastated her. Where was her pride?

“Have you told your parents yet?”

“No.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“The divorce isn’t final … yet.”

“Gemma, you’re stalling.”

“It will break their hearts—Jason is like a son to them.”

“Considering Jason’s position in the governor’s office, it’s bound to hit the local papers soon. Is that how you want them to find out?”

“No.” But neither did she want her mother pecking her to death with worry. “I’ll tell them … soon.”

“Did you find a job?”

Another dilemma. Unemployment was not so unusual for the wife of the state attorney general, but not so realistic for a divorcée with no alimony. “Not yet,” Gemma admitted.

A noise outside drew her to the picture window overlooking the side yard. She nudged aside the filmy white curtain and looked down into the overgrown lawn of the empty house next door. A tall man with shiny dark hair was using a mallet to dislodge a faded For Sale sign that had been posted on the lawn for all of the two years that she and Jason had lived here.

“Have you even looked for a job?” Sue prodded.

“I will … today.”

“Okay.” Sue’s disbelieving response vibrated over the line. “Gemma, you have to pull yourself together.”

“I know, and I will. I just need some time to absorb my new reality.” She pushed hair out of her eyes. From his tool belt, she gathered the stranger was a workman, hired, no doubt, by the new owner to fix up the place. She felt a spurt of relief for the sagging Spanish house whose exotic lines she’d always admired. But when the man lifted his dark gaze to her second-floor window, she dropped the curtain and stepped back, her face stinging.

The man had probably thought her house was empty. How many rubber-banded newspapers were piled on the front porch? Had weeds overtaken the brilliant birds-of-paradise and ginger flowers in the planting beds? Tending to the exotic plants that thrived in the lush Florida humidity had always been her favorite pastime. But since the final court appearance last week, she’d found it unnecessary to move beyond the front door.

“I’m sure any of the nonprofit agencies that you’ve helped to raise money for would be happy to hire you in some capacity.”

“Probably. But I don’t want to take advantage of my relationship with Jason.”

“There’s nothing wrong with using his name to get the job. You’ll prove yourself once you get there.”

Gemma understood the practicality of her friend’s advice, but something inside her revolted at the idea of using Jason’s connections. “I don’t want to be in a position where I’d have to feel grateful to Jason, or be around people who might expect me to ask him for favors.”

“I have some business contacts in Tampa. I could make some calls,” Sue offered cheerfully.

Right—Sue’s business associates would be clamoring to hire a thirty-two-year-old with an unused degree in art history. She’d save herself and her lobbyist friend the embarrassment of asking. “Thanks anyway. I’ll find something on my own.”

“Okay,” Sue said warily. “Have a good day. I’ll call you later.”

Gemma returned the receiver with a sigh. She had no right to be irritated with her friend. Sue was only trying to help in a situation that had rocked both of them to the core. Sue felt betrayed by Jason, too. She had introduced Gemma and Jason when the girls were seniors at Covington Women’s College in Jacksonville and Jason was in law school at the University of Florida in nearby Gainesville. Sue had preened as her two friends had dated, fallen in love, graduated, married and evolved into an influential political couple.

I introduced them, she’d gushed to onlookers as camera bulbs flashed at their lavish wedding and over the years at every political appointment and election leading up to Jason being sworn in as state attorney general. When Gemma had called her, blubbering about a divorce, Sue hadn’t believed her at first. Like Gemma, she couldn’t conceive of Jason turning his back on their ten-year marriage with no warning and no remorse, as if it were simply one of the hundreds of decisions he had to make daily.

If there were fifty ways to leave your lover, he had surely chosen one of the most cruel. He’d asked Gemma to pack a suitcase for him for a last-minute trip and bring it by his office. Then after ensuring she had packed his favorite ties and shoes, he’d turned to her and said, “This isn’t working for me anymore. I want a divorce.”

Gemma remembered laughing at the comment. Jason had always exhibited a quirky sense of humor. But he’d leveled his pale blue eyes on her with an expression that she’d since realized was pity. “I’m moving to Tallahassee alone, Gemma. It’s over.”

It’s over. As if he was referring to a television show or a song that had run its course.

A banging sound next door jarred her from her circular thoughts. Gemma wiped at the perspiration on her neck, realizing suddenly that she was sticky all over, that the air in the room was stifling. A check of the thermostat revealed that yet something else had gone wrong when she wasn’t looking. She’d have to call a repair service.

She went from room to room on the top floor to open windows, releasing heat that had risen in the house. The bedroom that Jason had turned into his office looked as if it had been violated, stripped of furniture and decorated with cobwebs in strange places. From the walls sprang naked cables that had once provided power to fuel his busy life.