Stephanie Bond – Real Men: Rugged Rebels: Watch and Learn / Under His Skin / Her Perfect Hero (страница 11)
He nodded to cover what he must be thinking—how sad it was that the job she took not only required her to dress like a prostitute, but that she was basically on call … like a prostitute.
The automatic overhead garage light began to dim. “I should go in,” she said.
“Of course. Good night.”
“Good night.” She waited until he was out of sight before lowering the garage door. She entered the house moving slowly, her underwear displaced and rubbing her in delicate places already tender with engorgement. An unattained orgasm sang low in her belly and she suddenly anticipated a self-stimulated release.
But where, she wondered, glancing around, her excitement mounting. The kitchen table? The shower? The bed? The blast of warm, stale air was a reminder that the air conditioner was still on the blink. She trudged up the stairs, flipping on lights as she went, her stomach growling from hunger. But a deeper hunger stirred in her pelvis.
She walked into her bedroom and turned on the light, then automatically went to open the window to welcome any breeze that might be stirring. As she slid aside the glass panel, her gaze went to the window across from hers. The room behind it was dark. Was he there?
But was he the kind of man who would say that, then go upstairs to see what she would do? He’d made it clear that he hadn’t looked away when he’d seen her undressing in the window, that he had enjoyed being the unintentional voyeur.
Her heartbeat increased to double time as blood rushed to her breasts and thighs.
Now that they both knew that he’d seen everything, would he scrupulously avoid the window? Or was he standing there, even now, waiting to see what would happen?
CHEV HELD HIS BREATH, hating himself for going straight to the window, but he’d been thinking of little else but Gemma all day, and his desire for her lay smoldering just under the surface. That provocative outfit of hers had been like a match thrown on the carefully banked coals, igniting an instant blaze in his belly.
She stood at the window, her face cast in shadow, her body outlined by the backlighting in her room. Her head was turned in his direction, although he felt certain he was hidden in the inky darkness. She stepped back from the window and he exhaled. She had understood his warning and would take steps to make sure it didn’t happen again.
But instead of pulling the sheer curtain across the window, she simply started unbuttoning her blouse.
He stood riveted, because he knew this show was for him, purposely.
Facing him, she unbuttoned the low-cut pink blouse slowly, then shrugged out of it to reveal a black lacy bra that barely restrained her full breasts.
Chev sucked in a sharp breath as his cock hardened behind his zipper. He reached down to massage the length of his erection for some measure of relief. Where was this going, and how far would she take it?
Before the idea had slid out of his mind, he watched incredulously as she pulled the short skirt up around her waist, revealing the fishnet stockings—thigh-highs, Lord have mercy—and minuscule black panties. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.
Every muscle in his body tensed. Was she …? She wouldn’t, he decided.
But she did.
She slipped her hand inside the black panties and as her fingers found their target, her head lolled backward, her mouth slightly open.
“Jesus,” he muttered, dragging his hand across the back of his neck where perspiration had gathered. He knew he should leave for his own good, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He told himself he would simply watch and not participate, refusing to relieve himself like a horny teenager. So he looked on, dry mouthed and overheated as Gemma’s hand moved in a circular motion. He wondered idly how long it had been since she’d had a good orgasm, but he had his answer when, after only a few seconds, her body tensed, then spasmed with her release. His cock jumped in response and he thought he heard the sounds of her cries even through his closed window.
His breathing rasped higher in frustration as he was struck with the urge to ring her doorbell and give the woman a second orgasm the old-fashioned way. She withdrew her hand and leaned back on the bed for a moment, then pushed to her feet slowly and moved to the window. His cock throbbed for release, and he had the crazy thought that she would gesture for him to come over.
She lifted her hand.
And closed the sheer curtain.
GEMMA LOVED to make love in the morning … when the young sun suffused the bed with just enough light to see the expression on her lover’s face as his body sank into hers. She slid her hand across the bed toward the man from her dreams, then blinked awake when her reach came up empty.
The erotic details of the dreams dissipated like fog, but she was left with the distinct impression of a dark-skinned man and a tiny gold earring. Her back was moist with perspiration, her body still vibrating from the intensity of the fantasies, no longer sated from her self-gratification episode of the night before.
A wicked thrill passed through her at the memory of her wanton behavior, and she wondered if and how her performance had been received. Had he turned away out of dismay, or had he, perhaps, exhausted himself along with her?
The idea of the big man watching her to achieve his own orgasm sent a shudder through her body. Then she bit into her lip—what if he was disgusted instead? What if he had reported her to the police or the neighborhood association as an exhibitionist? Last night when they were talking, she thought she’d sensed his arousal … but what if she’d misjudged mere politeness?
She went to the window and moved the curtain a millimeter.All was quiet next door, with no sign of the silver pickup truck. Perhaps he’d gone to eat, or to pick up supplies.
And then she noticed that the window across from hers was shuttered—the only one as far as she could tell.
Gemma swallowed hard. Was he sending her a message? It would seem so. A hot flush of humiliation scorched her skin as she turned away from the curtains. She’d pushed things too far, had exceeded the boundaries of good taste, or perhaps had trespassed on his obligation to another woman. Regardless, it appeared that he was putting an end to her watch-me games.
With a knot of anxiety in her stomach, Gemma dressed in shorts and T-shirt and descended to the first level. Feeling like a naughty child put in her place, she cursed her carnal weakness and chastised herself for not exhibiting more self-control. And she conceded that while she had considered and dismissed the danger in what she was doing (the risk was part of the thrill, after all), she was even less prepared to deal with outright rejection on the heels of Jason’s departure.
Self-condemnation welled in her chest, choking her. God, she was lonely. She glanced at the basket holding Jason’s accumulating mail and before she could change her mind, picked up the phone and dialed his cell number. While his phone rang, she reminded herself she had legitimate business to discuss with him and inhaled to compose herself. Should she try to sound perky, or detached? Which, she wondered, would best convey the notion that she’d moved on and was merely tending to the pesky loose ends of her marriage?
Jason answered before she could decide. “Gemma? What’s up?” His voice was even and polite, as if he were talking to anyone … or no one.
A sharp pain struck behind her breastbone.
“Gemma? Are you okay?”
His thinly veiled irritation roused her from her wounded daze. “Sure,” she said, sounding amazingly normal. “Sorry, I didn’t expect you to answer. I was planning to leave you a voice message.” She impressed herself with her improvisation.
“What about?”
“Your mail, and some other things you left. What should I do with them?”
“Is it anything important?” He sounded as if he was walking somewhere, juggling the phone.
She hardened her jaw. “Not to me. Some magazines, golf stuff.”
“You can toss it as far as I’m concerned. I took everything that meant something to me.”
Right between the eyes. She blinked, then nodded. “Okay, then.”
“Did you tell your parents yet?” For the first time, she detected a note of sadness in his voice. It made her wonder if he’d prolonged the marriage for their sake.
“Mom called yesterday—she’d heard from another source. Did your office issue a statement?”
“No, we decided it was best just to ignore it and answer questions as they arise.”
“Divert them to my secretary. She’ll take care of it, make appropriate excuses.”
She wondered if kind old Margery knew that, after ten years, Jason still referred to her by her position instead of her name. Had he previously treated his wife with similar disrespect when talking to others?
“Is that all?” he asked, clearly already thinking about something else. “Do you need my help with something, Gemma?”