She switched to a heartfelt plea. “Then look at the counter. That’ll guide you right out of here. Please.”
It was only after he’d done just that with her watching him warily, that she realized she was essentially trapped in the kitchen—in the damned tub—until he left the apartment. Of course, she could retreat to her room soaking wet, leaving a trail of water for Paul to complain about and wearing a silk robe that, when wet, would reveal almost as much as it concealed. Or she could break down and request a towel.
She was still debating the relative merits of the alternatives when she heard a sharp intake of breath behind her. She held her own breath for the impatient outburst that was sure to follow.
“Dammit, Gaby, aren’t you out of here yet?”
She sank lower in the now murky, icy water. She wanted very badly to respond to the exasperated tone. She wanted almost more than anything to tell him exactly where he could go with his badgering and his self-righteous indignation. She wanted to lambast his insensitivity to her predicament. She wanted to remind him of how any gentleman would have handled the situation.
The fact remained that she needed a towel and there wasn’t a gentleman in sight.
“If you’ll bring me a towel, I will be happy to get out of your way,” she said, substituting stiff formality for angry charges.
To her surprise he did exactly as she asked without a murmur. When he returned, however, he lingered just a shade too long in the doorway. The ragged sound of his breathing warned her of his presence nearby. He was either dramatically out of shape or he’d paused to take in the view. She’d seen his well-toned muscles and bet readily on the latter. He was gawking again. Despite the rapidly cooling water, her skin burned under his slow, thorough surveillance. She recalled the smoldering deep blue of his eyes in the moonlit living room on Saturday night, the quickening then of his breath and her pulse.
Finally she heard his footsteps, soft and coming heart-stoppingly close. Unless his nobility was far stronger than she had any reason to credit him with, he could see quite clearly the tightening of her nipples just below the surface of the water, the bare plane of her belly, the shadowy triangle of hair below. Swallowing hard, she held out her hand for the towel.
“I’ll hold it for you,” he said thickly.
They both knew it was not a gentlemanly gesture. Far from it. It was temptation. It was daring all sanity. But short of staying stubbornly right where she was so Paul could witness the deepening rose of a blush in her cheeks and God knows where else, there seemed to be little alternative.
Furious, yet undeniably intrigued by the sensations rocketing through her, she shot a quick peek up. The indiscreet glance caught the visible rise and fall of his chest, saw the lines of tension at the corners of his mouth, the blatant hunger in his eyes as he caught her gaze and held it for an eternity.
Just when Gabrielle thought he’d stolen her breath forever with something as simple as a look, he closed his eyes and murmured something that sounded like a cross between a curse and a sigh of regret. He dropped the towel and left, slamming the front door behind him. The sound echoed through her soul.
Surrounded by deafening silence, Gabrielle trembled violently at the nearness of her escape. Their escape. She dressed hurriedly and left the apartment with a sense of urgency, trying to leave behind the undeniable thrill of pleasure she had felt for one all-too-brief, maddening moment under his hot, longing gaze. With pesky, troubling persistence, it followed her, creating distraction in its wake.
She remembered her all-important briefcase midway to Manhattan. She snagged her last pair of expensive hose on a torn subway seat she would ordinarily have been alert enough to avoid. She filled out the first two-page job application with visibly shaky handwriting that bore little resemblance to her usual firm script. For a few panicky seconds she couldn’t recall her new address. During her first interview, she found herself staring blankly at her prospective employer, unable to recall his name or his question, but remembering Paul’s face all too vividly.
The interview ended shortly afterward with a noncommittal and unpromising handshake. For the first time in her life Gabrielle found herself ordering a drink with lunch. She downed the martini in two quick gulps and was tempted to order another. Only rigid selfdiscipline and the prospect of that two o’clock interview kept her from it. She never touched her salad. Her thoughts in turmoil, she ripped the crisp French roll into a mound of crumbs, then stared at the resulting mess in astonishment.
In the ladies’ room, she examined herself in the mirror and caught the confusion in her eyes. No man had ever taken her so much by surprise. No man had ever breached her defenses so skillfully, though many had tried. Worse, Paul wasn’t even trying. He was as shaken as she was by the attraction that warred with an incompatibility so basic only a fool would ignore it. If ever their common sense failed simultaneously, however, she had no doubt the resulting explosion of desire would be thrilling beyond imagination. Sadly, their broken hearts would be destined to lie in the ultimate rubble of that explosion.
If she were wise, she would move out now. She would take an offer of temporary shelter with one of her friends and make Paul Reed nothing more than a distant memory. Without a doubt, she knew she should go while there were no wounds to heal. And yet.…
* * *
The hammer slipped, missing the nail and leaving a semicircular gash in the expensive mahogany paneling.
