If Ever I Loved You (16 page)

She looked past Lilly and for the first time saw Gina
standing there. Her jaw tightened and she sat up with surprising grace
for one so heavy. Bertha Van Housen was of medium height but
considerably overweight, although she was always carefully corseted and
fashionably gowned. Today she wore a navy blue jersey dress with white
polka dots and had added a navy blue hand-knit sweater to ward off the
chill of the ocean breeze. Her hair, once blonde but now white, was
worn in a short, lightly curled style that was becoming to her round
face.

She glared at Gina and spoke in a glacial tone. "So you're
back, Virginia Lea. We'd hoped you'd have the good grace to stay out of
Peter's life, but apparently that was too much to expect."

Seven years ago Gina had longed for acceptance by the
wealthy Van Housen family and would have been crushed by such a
stinging rejection, but now all she felt was contempt and possibly a
little pity for this arrogant, self-centered woman. She locked her gaze
with Bertha's and said, "It is a little much to expect, I agree, since
I happen to be Peter's wife and this is my home. Now, if you'll excuse
me I must talk to my husband."

She walked off leaving mother and daughter staring after
her in shocked silence.

Gina found Peter in the family room standing at the
picture window looking out at the ocean. He had his back to her and
mistook her for Lilly as he said, "It's about time you got back with my
car. You knew I was anxious to get started for San Francisco."

He turned and saw her framed in the doorway. The ice in
his highball glass tinkled, an indication that his hand was not
altogether steady. For a moment he just looked at her, and when he
spoke it was not a welcome. "Well, to what do I owe the honor of your
presence?" he mocked. "I thought you couldn't wait to get rid of me."

He didn't invite her to come in and sit down but took a
swallow of his drink without breaking eye contact with her.

Gina was looking into the light from the window and
couldn't see Peter's face clearly, but his tone indicated his disgust.
Perhaps she deserved it. Maybe she should have stayed and done battle
with the senior Van Housens yesterday. All she'd gained by running was
Peter's ire and a few hours postponement of the inevitable. Well, she'd
overcome the first hurdle, Bertha, so she might as well tackle Peter
too.

She walked across the heavily carpeted floor to stand in
front of him. He was wearing jeans and a white cotton T-shirt and
beneath the day's growth of dark golden stubble his face was gray and
drawn. He raised his glass and clanked the ice cubes together,
deliberately this time, as he taunted, "You should have let me know you
were coming, I'd have spiffed up for you. You can't really blame me for
not expecting you—it's the first time
you've
ever come to
me
."

He took another swallow of whiskey then looked at the
meager contents left in the glass. "I'm going to have a refill," he
said. "Can I fix you something?"

Without answering Gina reached out and took the glass from
his hand. "Go sit down, I'll fix it for you," she said and headed
toward the bar.

Peter didn't move but watched her as she found a bottle of
club soda and poured it into the whiskey until the glass was again
full. He made a face and muttered, "That wasn't exactly what I had in
mind."

She smiled as she came toward him with the drink. "That's
what you're going to get as long as I'm tending bar."

He took the glass from her and moved to the couch. "Remind
me to have you replaced,
pronto
," he grumbled as
he sat down.

Peter leaned his head against the back of the velour sofa
and closed his eyes, and for a few minutes neither of them spoke. It
was impossible to tell how much he had been drinking by his actions or
his speech, but he looked ill and Gina suspected he was the type who
got sick instead of drunk.

Without moving or opening his eyes he said, "You might as
well tell me what you want. I know you didn't come here just to sit
beside me on the couch."

Actually, she'd been enjoying the quiet closeness and was
fighting the urge to move closer and take his hand. He seemed to like
to have her touch him, but that always started up another whole train
of thought that was best left dormant.

Instead she answered factually. "Lilly brought me. She
said you were drinking too much and talking about driving to San
Francisco and she wanted me to stop you."

He muttered an oath. "I see my big sister is still
meddling in my life. I wish she'd back off and leave me alone."

"It's only because she loves you that she worries."

He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "I'm
glad to hear somebody loves me."

He sounded so bleak, as though he really was lonely and
unloved. Gina bit her lip but the words came anyway. "Do you want me to
love you, Peter?"

He turned his head toward her then and opened his eyes.
For a second she thought she saw a flicker of—yearning? but
it was replaced by a veiled scrutiny before she could be sure. "You
know what I want," he said impatiently, "I want
you
."

Gina tried to ignore the hurt and told herself that she
deserved it. She should have known better than to ask that question. He
didn't want her love, only her body.

She shifted uncomfortably and changed the subject. "Have
you had lunch?"

He took a drink of his whiskey-flavored soda. "No."

"Did you eat breakfast?"

"I didn't feel like eating," he said. "I had a drink
instead."

She frowned. "How about dinner last night?"

"No Mama," he mimicked, "I didn't have my spinach last
night either. What difference does it make? Who appointed you my
keeper?"

"Lilly did," she snapped, "and it will make a big
difference if you don't want to be violently ill very shortly."

He groaned. "I suspect that I will be anyway so why bother
to eat? It'll just make it that much worse when it happens."

She felt a wave of sympathy tinged with annoyance as she
got up and walked over to stand in front of him. "Come to the kitchen
with me and I'll fix you a sandwich."

She put out her hand to help him up, but when he took it
he gave a tug and she landed in his lap instead. He gripped her tightly
so she couldn't slip away from him as he said, "Why should you cook for
me when I pay a housekeeper to do that?"

Gina had been afraid this would happen, but now that it
had she didn't have the strength to resist. Instead she put her arms
around his neck and curled up against him. His briskly unshaven face
was rough against hers and he smelled of whiskey but she didn't care
about that as she murmured, "I want to cook for you because drinking on
an empty stomach can make you awfully sick."

He pressed her closer. "Would you care if it did, Gina?"

"Of course I would," she murmured against his throat.
"After you've eaten you should lie down and sleep, then you'll feel
better."

His hand brushed lightly against the side of her breast
and she could feel her response deep inside. "If I do will you lie down
with me?" he asked.

She wanted to say yes so badly that she had to clamp her
jaws together. Why was she being so stubborn about this? If she wanted
to make love with him this much, why didn't she? He was certainly
willing. It wasn't as if she was too young to know what she was getting
into. At twenty-five she was long past due to lose her virginity. Still
she couldn't give in. She had to have some shred of hope that Peter
could love her again before she committed herself to him in that way.

She tipped her head and looked up at him. "Is that all you
ever think of?" she complained.

He grinned. "Honey, it's almost impossible to think of
anything else with you wiggling around on my lap."

His suggestive remark made her intimately aware of his
arousal, and her own body responded wildly. Unable to sit still she
squirmed against him, and with a low moan his mouth descended on hers,
ravishing its willing sweetness. Her arms tightened, holding him close,
as heat surged through her, melting her resistance. He wanted her and
she wanted him and that's all that mattered: she'd worry about tomorrow
when it came.

Peter broke off the kiss and lay his cheek against hers.
It was then that Gina realized something was wrong. His skin was cool
and damp with a fine film of perspiration. "Peter," she murmured, "are
you all right?"

He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "No," he breathed.
"My stomach, it's churning. I'm afraid…"

He stood up suddenly, dumping her on the sofa beside where
they'd been sitting. "Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry…"

He stumbled from the room and hurried down the hall toward
the bathroom.

After summoning Lilly to check on Peter and make sure he
was all right, Gina went into the kitchen and, with the aid of Mrs.
Webster, heated up the remains of the chicken and rice casserole that
had been prepared for lunch. When Peter joined her half an hour later
he had shaved, showered and changed into light blue slacks and a
matching blue print shirt. The effect was nothing short of devastating
to Gina's already short-circuited emotions. With his blue eyes, blond
hair and slender but powerful physique he radiated enough sex appeal to
start a stampede, but it was his vulnerability that tugged at Gina. The
shamed look in his eyes and the lines around his mouth that revealed a
still queasy stomach.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a tentative
smile as he said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to make such a fool of myself
back there."

Her heart was doing odd little pit-a-pats that made her
voice stumble. "Do—do you feel better now?"

"Yes," he said, watching her. "I always feel better when
you're around."

She looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice the effect he
was having on her. "Sit down at the table and I'll bring your lunch,"
she said and began dishing up the chicken and rice. She added an
individual molded fruit salad on a bed of lettuce and poured him a cup
of coffee.

He eyed the plate of food and pressed his hand against his
stomach as he said, "I don't know, honey, I—"

She was standing next to him and squeezed his shoulder
gently. "Just try it. You don't need to eat any more than you think
your stomach can handle."

He moved his hand to cover hers on his shoulder. "Gina,"
he said thickly. "Come here. Sit on my lap again."

She was tempted almost beyond endurance but she knew that
would be folly. Instead she drew her hand from under his and laughed
shakily. "If I did that you wouldn't eat and then you'd be sick again."

"It would be worth it," he murmured.

"Oh, Peter," she groaned and reached out to cradle his
head between her breasts. He clasped her around the waist and relaxed
against her as she gently stroked his face and hair. "What am I going
to do with you?"

He rubbed his cheek against the softness of her and his
voice was unsteady as he said, "Touch me, hold me, the way you're doing
now. I need your loving tenderness, sweetheart. I became addicted to it
seven years ago and these long years without it have been agony."

His actions and his words were tearing her apart. How
could she be sensible when her whole being screamed for surrender?
Peter had admitted that he wanted her, needed her, was not always able
to function without her. Was it really so important that he love her
too? Didn't she love enough for both of them?

She leaned down and kissed the top of his clean,
shampoo-scented head. "Give me a little time, love. I can't think
straight when I'm around you. I never could. You touch me and I melt.
We both know that, I was never any good at hiding it, but I can't let
you push me into making a decision I'll regret later. I don't think
physical attraction, even a passion as strong as ours, is enough on
which to base a marriage."

She moved then and turned slightly so she could sit on his
lap as he'd asked her to. For long moments they sat clasped in each
other's arms, wordlessly glorying in the intimate body contact that
they both so greatly desired.

Finally Gina stirred and raised her face to his. "Kiss me,
and then eat your lunch before it gets cold."

He grinned and whispered, "Yes ma'am," as his mouth
covered hers. It was a sweet and gentle kiss, very much like the first
one he had ever given her so many years ago. He cradled her close as
his lips caressed hers with a passion that he kept carefully banked and
a hunger that he could not contain.

They broke it off reluctantly and Gina stroked his cheek
as she whispered, "Oh, Peter, I did love you so."

His gaze held hers. "Did?" he asked.

She closed her eyes to shut out the pleading so visible in
his. "I committed myself to you once," she said tightly, "and you
decided you didn't want me. I'm not prepared to do that again."

She slid off his lap and strove for lightness. "Come on
now and eat your lunch while it's still edible."

He didn't argue and Gina poured herself a cup of coffee
and sat at the table with him as he ate, slowly at first but then with
more relish.

They were laughing over something Peter had said that came
out backward, an indication that his reflexes were still slowed from
all the Scotch, when his mother walked in the kitchen. She gave Gina a
chilling glance then focused on Peter. "Peter, my dear," she began in
her most effective "concerned mother" voice, "you shouldn't be eating
so soon after being ill."

Her gaze shifted to Gina and hardened. "Virginia, I can't
imagine what you're thinking of forcing him to eat when you know it
will just upset him again."

Gina tensed, prepared to defend herself but Peter was
quicker. "I'm feeling much better now, Mother, and Gina most certainly
has not forced me to eat."