Real Men: Rugged Rebels: Watch and Learn / Under His Skin / Her Perfect Hero

She pushed her hand into her damp hair. “No. The doorbell rang this morning and, like a fool, I thought it was him.”

“Who was it?”

“Some guy who’s fixing up the house next door.”

“Some guy? Is he cute?”

Gemma thought of Chev Martinez’s sexy eyes and calendar body. “I really didn’t notice.”

“What did he want?”

“He was just delivering a piece of my mail that he found. Hey,” she said to change the subject, “I have an interview tomorrow with an employment agency.”

“That’s great! Are you excited?”

“Yeah, I’m actually looking forward to it. Oh, and I talked to my mom today.”

“How’d that go?”

“It was a disaster of monumental proportions. Basically, she assumes the divorce is my fault, that I didn’t keep Jason happy in bed.”

“Oh my God, your mother actually said that?”

“Yes. Hearing my mother talk about sex was like listening to a frequency not meant for humans. I think my eardrums might have burst.”

Sue laughed. “Well, at least you’re starting to sound like yourself again. Your mom will come around. They were just blindsided, that’s all.”

“Weren’t we all?” Gemma said. “I also had two phone messages from reporters asking me to comment on the divorce.”

“I’m not surprised. Did you call them back?”

“Of course not. One of them was that toad Lewis Wilcox who so blatantly opposed Jason’s election.”

“Nice of you to protect Jason, considering.”

Gemma pressed her lips together—old habits were hard to break. “It’s not just to protect Jason. I don’t want the attention, either. Besides, it’s not as if I have any sordid details to divulge.”

“But it’s just the kind of thing that Jason’s political opponents would love to turn into a scandal if they could.”

“The funny thing is, the truth is too boring for a headline: State Attorney General Tells Wife, ‘I’m Just Not That Into You.’”

Sue laughed. “At least now that the divorce is official—and public—it’ll be easier for you to move on.”

“As if I have a choice.”

“Things are going to be fine, I promise.”

Gemma sighed. “I know. I just want it to be sooner rather than later.”

“Call me tomorrow after your interview to let me know how it went.”

“Okay, bye.”

Gemma returned the phone to its cradle, feeling a surge of appreciation for Sue who had better things to do than make sure her newly divorced friend was treading water.

Sue was right … things were bound to get easier. A job would help Gemma find a center for her new life and leave her less time to dwell on her failed marriage. She glanced at her closet and frowned. She knew how to dress for a fund-raiser, for a luncheon and for a political rally, but what did one wear to a job interview these days? Some companies encouraged their employees to dress casually, while others policed toe cleavage.

When she opened the folding doors of the closet, she nursed a fleeting pang for the empty side Jason’s clothes and shoes had once occupied. A few odd hangers, a plastic collar stay, and a dry cleaner’s receipt were all that remained. How many times had she wished for more closet space? She had it now, she thought as she spread her clothes across the entire length of the rod.

Flipping through suits, jackets, pants and skirts, Gemma discarded one thing after another as being too staid, too dressy or too casual. Her fingers skimmed over an exquisite black beaded gown she’d worn to a state government function and she wondered wistfully if she’d ever have an opportunity to wear it again. Finally she withdrew a tailored shirtdress and turned toward the mirror, dropping her towel. Then she gasped.

She’d forgotten that she had a new neighbor and could no longer walk around nude in her bedroom.

But at the sight of the darkened window across from hers, she exhaled in relief. Considering the late hour, Chev Martinez had probably left to have dinner or perhaps had collapsed into whatever makeshift bed he’d set up in the house for himself.

Then Gemma pressed her lips together as a deliciously taboo thought, lubricated by the wine, slid into her mind. Just what would she have done if the hard-bodied carpenter had been standing at the window, watching?

CHEV STOOD frozen to the floor. He’d come back to the upstairs bedroom to close the window and collect a few tools. Then he’d glanced up in time to see Gemma Jacobs perfectly outlined in her bedroom window as she dropped her towel.

His throat contracted at the sight of her naked body, her breasts heavy, her waist narrow, her hips curved. Her skin was pale and translucent, her nipples pink and puffy. The triangle of hair at the juncture of her thighs was light brown. His cock began to throb, and he was afraid to move, afraid she would hear him or detect movement in the darkened room. He wasn’t a Peeping Tom, yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He’d fantasized about her too often … having the chance to observe her, unseen, was too much to resist. She was unaware he was watching. He was only hurting himself, he reasoned.

Gemma was looking into a mirror and holding up a blue dress, a nice color for her. She laid the dress on the bed and, from a drawer, withdrew bra and panties. When she leaned over to step into the panties, her breasts fell forward, sending blood rushing away from Chev’s brain and to his erection. She pulled the pale pink panties high on her thighs, then reached for the lacy bra. Putting her arms through the straps, she fastened the bra with a front closure, then arranged her breasts in the cups.

Chev swallowed hard. He’d never dreamed that watching a woman put clothes on could be so erotic.

She lifted the dress over her head, arching high. He could almost hear the rustle of the fabric as it shimmied down over her body. She buttoned the dress slowly, turning this way and that, then fetched a pair of high-heeled shoes to step into, rendering her long legs even longer, emphasizing the curve of her calves. He thought she looked beautiful, but she made a face, apparently dissatisfied, then proceeded to unbutton the dress with maddening slowness and lift it over her head.

He let out a small groan. Bra, panties, and high heels—God help him.

Next came a slim skirt and prim button-up blouse. “Nice,” he murmured, although she wasn’t showing enough leg for his taste.

She pirouetted in front of the mirror, then shook her head and, to his delight and despair, undressed again. Her breasts threatened to spill out of the bra as she moved her arms. He squirmed to adjust his erection that now bordered on painful. A bead of sweat trickled down his tense back.

Next came another dress, this one a floral number with a swingy skirt and snug bodice. She changed shoes to strappy high heels and as she turned in the mirror, he grunted in affirmation, then whispered, “Lady, you are gorgeous.”

He shifted and accidentally nudged the wet/dry vacuum, which hit a ladder, which fell and took down several boards leaning against the wall, all of it crashing to the floor next to the cot he’d set up to sleep on. If the racket alone wasn’t enough to alert his neighbor, a fat flashlight came on when it hit the floor, rolling and sending beams of light around the room like a strobe.

Chev dove on the flashlight, but the switch was broken and it wouldn’t turn off. As he scrambled to remove the batteries, he glanced up to find Gemma staring at his window—staring at him. Chev realized with dismay that he was shining a light on his own face.

Busted.

5

AT THE SIGHT of Chev Martinez’s face illuminated in the window across from hers, Gemma froze. From the guilty look on his face, it was clear he’d been there for a while, watching her. Watching her dress … and undress. The pale pink lace bra and bikini panties she wore left more skin uncovered than not. Several outfits were strewn over the bed.

A hot flush spread over her face and arms as she realized just how much of a show she’d inadvertently given him. And while her mind screamed for her to cry out in alarm, to cover herself and yank the curtain closed, her body seemed unable to comply. Slowly she realized that the inability to move was actually the unwillingness to move.

It was as if her wanton thoughts of him watching her had conjured up his image, had drawn him to the window. How could she shriek and flail about when she was the one who’d secretly wanted him to be there, and he was the one who looked stunned and … trapped?