remotely akin to it.
Then, again, maybe thatâs what someone of Gabrielleâs background had to think in order to justify a sexual relationship. Which, he noted ruefully, they didnât even have. Perhaps in her circles, she even had to justify desire.
Well, she could call it anything she liked. Personally, he thought lust or chemistry was a pretty adequate label. It was possible to lust after a total strangerâa lady with a pair of shapely legs, for instance, or one with long red hair that flashed fire in the sunlight. But you sure as hell couldnât love someone you didnât even know. If tonightâs argument had told him anything, it was that he and Gabrielle knew as much about each other as two people who happened to sit on neighboring bar stools. Theyâd both been talking for days, but obviously neither of them had been listening.
And that, he decided, was something he couldnât do a damn thing about until she came home. He went back down to work on the third floor apartment. The sooner it was finished and rented, the sooner he could complete the second floor unit and then, finally, his own on theground floor. Then there would be some space between him and Gabrielle, assuming she hadnât already moved on long before that. That prospect wasnât something he cared to think about at all.
At first, tonight, seeing the excitement that lit her eyes when sheâd come in, his stomach had knotted. Heâd been convinced that only a new job would spark that high-voltage smile and guileless enthusiasm. When heâd seen the two tables and realized that, for the moment, she intended to stayâjob or no jobâheâd been overwhelmed by relief and a vague sense of victory. It was as if those tables represented a sort of commitment.
It made what had happened afterward all the more confusing. How, in the midst of the teasing and laughter over those tables, had things gotten so intense and so wildly out of control? One minute theyâd been talking about paint, putting it on and taking it off. It certainly should have been less volatile than a similar discussion about clothes, for instance. Still, the next minute accusations and countercharges were whizzing through the air aimed at hurting.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldnât account for Gabrielleâs motives. To be honest, though, he understood his own all too well. In part at least, heâd been releasing years of pentup emotions, blaming her for long-ago slights, protecting himself from the pain of another rejection. Heâd set out to achieve emotional distance at a time when physical space wasnât possible. What had almost happened this morning had shown him the need for that.
Gabrielle had been gone nearly an hour when he heard the downstairs door open, then the heavy tread of slow, tired footsteps. He held his breath as the steps approached the third floor, then went on. He sighed. Apparently there would be no confrontation again tonight, no resolution of the earlier argument. Maybe it was for the best. Perhaps in the morning, with clearer heads, they could get at the real problems between them. He felt slightly guilty over his relief at the reprieve.
Working with renewed concentration on the new kitchen cabinets, he was startled when he turned and found Gabrielle standing in the doorway. Sheâd changed out of her tailored-for-success business suit into jeans and a surprisinglyfaded sweatshirt that dipped unevenly at the neckline and bagged everywhere else. Sheâd never looked sexier or more approachable. If he kept looking at her, it would shatter his control. He turned back to the cabinet, fitting a corner together with careful precision, then tapping a nail into place.
âWhat happened here tonight?â she said softly. The uncertainty in her voice was enough to tie his gut into knots all over again. He couldnât look at her. If he did, if he saw the slightest hint of
Then, again, maybe thatâs what someone of Gabrielleâs background had to think in order to justify a sexual relationship. Which, he noted ruefully, they didnât even have. Perhaps in her circles, she even had to justify desire.
Well, she could call it anything she liked. Personally, he thought lust or chemistry was a pretty adequate label. It was possible to lust after a total strangerâa lady with a pair of shapely legs, for instance, or one with long red hair that flashed fire in the sunlight. But you sure as hell couldnât love someone you didnât even know. If tonightâs argument had told him anything, it was that he and Gabrielle knew as much about each other as two people who happened to sit on neighboring bar stools. Theyâd both been talking for days, but obviously neither of them had been listening.
And that, he decided, was something he couldnât do a damn thing about until she came home. He went back down to work on the third floor apartment. The sooner it was finished and rented, the sooner he could complete the second floor unit and then, finally, his own on theground floor. Then there would be some space between him and Gabrielle, assuming she hadnât already moved on long before that. That prospect wasnât something he cared to think about at all.
At first, tonight, seeing the excitement that lit her eyes when sheâd come in, his stomach had knotted. Heâd been convinced that only a new job would spark that high-voltage smile and guileless enthusiasm. When heâd seen the two tables and realized that, for the moment, she intended to stayâjob or no jobâheâd been overwhelmed by relief and a vague sense of victory. It was as if those tables represented a sort of commitment.
It made what had happened afterward all the more confusing. How, in the midst of the teasing and laughter over those tables, had things gotten so intense and so wildly out of control? One minute theyâd been talking about paint, putting it on and taking it off. It certainly should have been less volatile than a similar discussion about clothes, for instance. Still, the next minute accusations and countercharges were whizzing through the air aimed at hurting.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldnât account for Gabrielleâs motives. To be honest, though, he understood his own all too well. In part at least, heâd been releasing years of pentup emotions, blaming her for long-ago slights, protecting himself from the pain of another rejection. Heâd set out to achieve emotional distance at a time when physical space wasnât possible. What had almost happened this morning had shown him the need for that.
Gabrielle had been gone nearly an hour when he heard the downstairs door open, then the heavy tread of slow, tired footsteps. He held his breath as the steps approached the third floor, then went on. He sighed. Apparently there would be no confrontation again tonight, no resolution of the earlier argument. Maybe it was for the best. Perhaps in the morning, with clearer heads, they could get at the real problems between them. He felt slightly guilty over his relief at the reprieve.
Working with renewed concentration on the new kitchen cabinets, he was startled when he turned and found Gabrielle standing in the doorway. Sheâd changed out of her tailored-for-success business suit into jeans and a surprisinglyfaded sweatshirt that dipped unevenly at the neckline and bagged everywhere else. Sheâd never looked sexier or more approachable. If he kept looking at her, it would shatter his control. He turned back to the cabinet, fitting a corner together with careful precision, then tapping a nail into place.
âWhat happened here tonight?â she said softly. The uncertainty in her voice was enough to tie his gut into knots all over again. He couldnât look at her. If he did, if he saw the slightest hint of
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