Real Men: Rugged Rebels: Watch and Learn / Under His Skin / Her Perfect Hero. Jeanie LondonЧитать онлайн книгу.
“And?”
“And Dr. Alexander would tell you to follow your instincts.”
“Dr. Alexander isn’t around,” Gemma said. If she were, Gemma would be tempted to tell her that the little experiment in class ten years ago had nearly been her undoing—then and now.
“Are those letters of yours giving you any ideas?” Sue asked in a suggestive voice.
“They’re the words of a naive schoolgirl,” Gemma said, as if she were trying to convince herself. “Let’s just say they have no basis in reality.”
Sue laughed. “But then reality can be such a drag.”
“Have you talked to Jason?” Gemma asked to change the thorny subject.
“Not for a while,” Sue said, her voice cagey. “Has he called again?”
“No.”
“Good. I hope he doesn’t.”
“Sue, for heaven’s sake, don’t you think that Jason and I should at least be friends?”
“I just don’t want you to fall under his spell again.”
Gemma laughed. “You make it sound like I have no power to resist him.”
“Jason makes his living persuading people, Gemma. And he’s the only man you’ve ever slept with—that’s powerful stuff.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions. Jason didn’t say anything about wanting to get back together. And I didn’t say anything about wanting him to.”
“But you do.”
Gemma sighed. “Okay, maybe a tiny part of me would like the satisfaction of hearing him say he made a mistake. Is that so wrong?”
“No,” Sue admitted. “I just think you’re on the verge of having your own life, and I don’t want to see you get folded back into Jason’s.”
Gemma didn’t respond, fighting unexpected pangs of doubt. Having her own life was being dressed like a call girl, on her way to a job that would mortify her parents—and Jason. And looking forward to it, God help her. Especially since she hadn’t been getting her fix at home, exhibiting for Chev.
Rain splattered on the windshield. “It’s starting to rain, so I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay, bye.”
Gemma hung up just as the gray sky unleashed on the city. She flipped on her headlights and wipers and slowed to accommodate the low visibility. She wondered how the weather would affect attendance today at the museum.
She parked in the museum employee lot, then ran through the rain that was now coming down in sheets. Poor Chev—the pool excavation would be stalled in this soup.
In the lobby, she shook her umbrella and smiled at Lillian, who had also just arrived.
“Join me for a cup of coffee?” Lillian asked.
Gemma nodded, shivering. By mutual agreement, they kept their coats on to cover their risqué outfits when they went into the break room and poured steaming cups of coffee. Gemma added creamer to hers, Lillian took hers black. They sat at a table in the corner.
“Nasty day,” Lillian offered.
Gemma nodded and sipped the scalding coffee.
“You look a little down,” the woman offered. The pink streak in her hair matched her youthful attitude. “Want to talk about it?”
Gemma shrugged. “It’s nothing specific. Did you ever feel as if your life hadn’t turned out the way it was supposed to?”
Lillian’s extraordinary violet-colored eyes danced with good cheer. “I guess I didn’t plan that far ahead. I tend to take happiness as it comes, and other than my brokerage account for retirement, I try not to outthink tomorrow.” She smiled into her coffee, then took a generous sip.
“Easier said than done,” Gemma said wistfully.
“Not really. I’m a tad older than you, so maybe that gives me more perspective. But the only times in my life I’ve ever been unhappy were the times I was living to make someone else happy—my parents, a boyfriend, my husband.”
“You were married?”
“For five glorious years … and two horrible ones.” Lillian gave a little laugh.
“I’m divorced, too,” Gemma said, and realized it was the first time she’d said the words aloud without flinching.
“Life is too short to be with someone who doesn’t make you happy.”
Two male employees came in and looked their way while they filled their coffee cups, devouring the women’s legs, Lillian’s in sheer black stockings, ending in black stilettos, Gemma’s bare and tanned, ending in red peep-toe platforms. Gemma felt a little rush of adrenaline, and noticed that Lillian sat taller, too. The men smiled and waved, then left, exchanging regretful glances.
Gemma ran her finger around the top of her coffee cup. “But what if what makes you happy … isn’t good for you?”
“You mean like drugs or alcohol?”
“No … this is a different kind of addiction.”
Lillian nodded thoughtfully. “Does it hurt anyone else?”
“No … the participants are … willing.”
“Does it expose you to harm?”
“Not if I’m discreet.”
The woman smiled brightly. “Then what’s the harm?”
“The guilt,” Gemma whispered. “And I’m afraid it will keep me from growing close to someone.”
Lillian took another drink of her coffee. “Did your ex go along with it?”
Gemma wet her lips. It was strange—and liberating—to talk to another admitted exhibitionist. “No. He knew nothing about it.”
“And were you close to him?”
“As it turns out, no.”
“So depriving yourself didn’t bring you the closeness you crave either, did it?”
Gemma shook her head, realizing the woman spoke from experience.
Lillian patted her hand and lowered her voice to a whisper. “So why deprive yourself? The right man will accept you and all your delicious inclinations.” She glanced at her watch. “We’re up in fifteen minutes, and I’d like to stop by the ladies’ room. See you later?”
Gemma smiled and nodded, then sat at the table a little while longer looking for answers in the depths of her coffee. She wished she had Lillian’s fearless outlook, could be so comfortable with her inclinations. She took a drink from her cup, remembering that for a few weeks during her senior year in college, she had been fearless.
But her fearlessness had also nearly ruined her life.
She turned her mind away from the disturbing murky memories, then emptied her cup. Still nursing more questions than answers, Gemma walked toward the cloakroom. The woman at the counter smirked when Gemma shrugged out of her coat, revealing her short red skirt and white bustier. Gemma ignored the woman’s slight because her midsection was already tingling at the anticipation of leading the first tour of the day. When she walked up to the meeting place, she saw that the rain hadn’t hurt today’s reservations. If anything, the crowds were more swollen than usual.
The tours lasted anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour, at the discretion of the guide, with a fifteen-minute break in between each tour. Gemma finished two tours before lunch, then ate with Lillian in the employee break room. It was becoming a habit, chatting away the hour. Lillian seemed to always know what