Real Men: Rugged Rebels: Watch and Learn / Under His Skin / Her Perfect Hero. Jeanie LondonЧитать онлайн книгу.

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       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,”