Naked Hope (19 page)

“But, just to be clear,” he grinned. “You are the boss. And you are dating me.”

The grainy screen reflected just how tired they both looked. “Only two weeks have passed and already Labor Day weekend feels like ages ago.”

“You miss me.”

He stated those three words as a fact but she didn’t miss the ways his eyes deepened with obvious heat. Her body thrilled at the memory of his touch. “I miss you,” she agreed.

“Dream sweet, Jillian.” He clicked off.

Two days later, Jill’s head jerked up when the UPS guy knocked on her office door.

“You Dr. Cole? Yeah? Good, because I have a delivery and can’t accept anyone’s signature except yours.”

Jill spied the return address, which read
I.am.music.com, 12481 Fairfield Lane, Shadow Hills, MN 55082
. Wondering what it could be, she ripped open the box. Inside, tucked into a midnight blue velvet drawstring bag, she found a leather-bound poetry anthology. Jill smoothed her fingers across the leather binding, intrigued by the sensuous nature of his gift. She leafed through the volume, seeing poetry by Brown, Dickenson, Neruda, Rumi. A silk print bookmark called her attention to page seventy-three. There she found a handwritten piece of paper tucked into the binding. She unfolded it and read, tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

Every Time You Breathe

There’s a sound

Like breaking waves

That no man can make

Only you

With your mouth in that perfect O

As your breath passes over your lips

Oh, to be your breath

To pass through you, ceaselessly

To feel the undulation of your body

Every time you breathe

My desire

Breaks like waves

waiting for the sound

that only you can make

And only I can hear

Later that night by webcam, Gavin asked, “Did you get it?”

“Yes.” Her heart quickened as she held up the leather-bound book.

“I can’t tell from here, does it have the red binding? Because I asked specifically for the edition with the red binding.”

The boyish intensity of his voice made her chuckle. She angled the volume toward the screen and ran her fingers along the binding. “Quite red, yes.”

“Okay, good. And did you find a little something tucked into page seventy-three?”

Fingering the earring in her lobe, she chuckled again. “Yes. Any particular reason it was tucked into page seventy-three?”

“Let’s see if you figure it out.” He crooked his finger. “Come closer.”

Jill leaned into the screen.

“Now, close your eyes.”

She did and listened as he read the poem, his voice rich like liquid amber. Her body ached to have his fingers touch her in the same way his voice moved her.

When he finished, he said, “That’s how I feel about you, Jillian.”

She kissed her fingertips and placed them against her heart. “You’re a hopeless romantic.”

He leaned into the screen blotting everything out but his eyes. “Have you figured out the significance of page seventy-three?”

His enthusiasm reminded her of a teenager. Jill reached for the book, scanning the page, and then shook her head.

With a smile, he pulled back, drew up his legs and wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth. “Ten weeks is seventy-three days. Good night, Jillian. Dream sweet.”

From
: Gavin Fairfield

To
: Jillian Cole

Subject
: Grrrrrrr

Olivia talks about you nonstop. Is it wrong to be jealous of my daughter?

Missing you. G.

___________________________________

From
: Jillian Cole

To
: Gavin Fairfield

Subject
: RE: Grrrrrrr

Gavin, as a psychologist, I recommend therapy. As a woman, I recommend AGAINST therapy.

___________________________________

Gavin called her from his hotel in Chicago. “Sorry, my phone’s dead. I forgot the charger and they’re having network issues here. Should have remembered my hotspot. Oh well, we’re reduced to the phone. Fortunately, I’m the auditory type.”

She cradled the phone against her cheek, wishing the receiver was Gavin’s hand. “I would agree. Very fortunate. Fortunate for the world of music, fortunate for music lovers, and especially fortunate for me.

“I miss you. Dream sweet, Jillian.”

A week before their seventy-three days were up, Gavin sent a text.

Leaving for New York—will be back in time

for big reunion.

Missing you already.

Good to know.

Did you doubt it?

Missing you, too.

Looking forward to the day

I don’t miss you.

WHAT?

Keep your shirt on.

Please clarify your last message.

I said keep your shirt on ;-)

Do you or do you NOT look forward to

the day when you DON’T miss me??????

;-) XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Um…hello? Any questions?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Four days to go and the webcam did nothing to disguise the fatigue in Gavin’s eyes. Everything in her wanted to be there with him, to ease his fatigue and coax the playfulness back into his demeanor.

“Jillian, what was your favorite part of our long weekend together?”

“Mmmmm.” She smiled, remembering his tongue working the smoked oyster out of her navel. “All of it.”

He shook his head, tiny worry lines shadowing his eyes. “Too easy. Be specific.”

“I loved it all but wait, I have an idea. Be right back.” She leaped up, inspired by a memory and returned, wearing the red sweater.

The moment he saw her, he pointed a finger at the screen, laughing. “That brings it back.”

She rolled her shoulders until the neckline dipped low, smiling at the memory of his gaze glued to her body and that the move was proving equally as effective now. “I loved watching you make dinner.”

He rubbed his chin. “Why do women always have a soft spot for men who cook?”

“Are we talking about women, or what works well with us?”

He grinned. “Good point. Go on.”

“And, I thought the way you wanted me to wait outside so we could walk into the cabin together was sweet.”

“Your favorite memory characterizes me as sweet?” He groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t rush me. You’re asking me to dissect an amazing weekend but okay, well, the waffles stand out.”

“I do make a mean waffle.”

She revolved a bare shoulder. “Oh, not the waffle, exactly. It’s the combination of waffles after being with you. Another one of my favorite moments was watching the stars through your bedroom skylight while listening to the fire.”

“They were pine logs. Make a great smelling fire. And noisy. Like you.” He chuckled and eased himself back against the chair.

She tilted her head. “Which brings me to something I’ve been meaning to ask. Were you a Boy Scout or something? How did you learn to do all those—things?”

“My mother insisted I learn to cook. My father insisted I learn how to manage a boat because you can’t own a shipping company without knowing about boats. Oh, you mean
those
things.” He grinned and settled deeper into the chair

She moved her shoulder just enough until the neck of her sweater dipped, and pouted her lower lip. Jill stretched. “That was quite a boat.”

“Remind me, what were you wearing?”

“You need reminding?”

“Just need a little nudge.”

Jill leaned into the screen and beckoned him with her finger. She rose and slowly stripped out of her sweater, then slid off her jeans. “How’s this?”

Gavin’s gaze snapped to attention. “Ah yes, the substandard bikini.”

Her body vibrating, Jill dipped toward the screen. “You remember incorrectly, sir. You inspected it and found it to be of superior workmanship. Maybe you should take a closer look.” She reached around her back, as if to untie the top. Her eyes held his.

His eyes widened and he muttered, “I’m coming over there right now. And you’re the one who remembers incorrectly. The bikini wasn’t what I was awarding superior workmanship to.”

Held in each other’s gaze, they sat, quiet once again.

Finally, he asked, “Thought of your favorite yet?”

As memories flooded her body with endorphins, she nodded. She folded her arms across herself desperately wishing they were Gavin’s. “When you told me you’d asked Baines to put my things in the guest suite. Even though, you preferred to have me stay with you.”

He straightened. “Why that?”

“Because your words showed you cared enough to respect my potential need for space, even when you tend to assume everyone wants what you want.”

He pulled away from the screen. “You’re saying it’s out of character for me to be sensitive?”

This time she didn’t stop herself from touching the screen. “I’m saying your nature is to be enthusiastic, and share that with everyone else. You don’t realize someone might want something other than what you want. So, when you offered me the guest suite, I knew how much you were trying to give me what
I
wanted.”

“And that’s your favorite part of the weekend?”

Jill leaned into the screen. “Gavin, why this is this so important?”

“Everything here in New York is real.” He looked away. “But in Shadow Hills, I’m always tiptoeing around my daughter because I committed to a protocol frequently opposite what I think I should do. Life there doesn’t feel natural. And then there’s us. We’re in this—fantasy world—almost as if we never happened.”

Wishing she had more than words to comfort him, she asked, “Tell me what about New York feels real?”

He spread his hands wide. “This is where I became a musician. I know who I am here. I’m not pretending to be someone else.”

“I have it now,” she whispered. Her throat constricted as she relived the memory. “My favorite was when you played for me.”

His eyes widened and his mouth thinned.

“Music is vibration, and when you played, the sound filled the entire house. I didn’t just listen—I felt you.”

“Describe it.”

She nodded and raised her arms. “Your music rose, mingling with the sun as it streamed through the skylights creating a prismatic effect. At first, I thought the image was the sun refracting through the glass. But the glass wasn’t beveled, and I realized what was happening couldn’t be explained by the laws of physics as we know them.” She crossed her arms against her chest. “The color turned gold and lavender with hints of silver and green and merged together, then burst like fireworks. I put my hands out to touch the colors as they floated down around me.” Jill opened her hands. “But would not be caught.”

His eyes widened. “You saw that?”

Relieved he understood, she admitted, “I can’t pretend to understand the experience but it changed me. I’m a scientist, Gavin. My job is to prove things so that I can fix them. But your music reminded me there are things which escape a rational explanation. They have to be experienced.”

His face relaxed. “So, that’s your favorite memory?”

She shook her head. “No, but it explains what comes next.” Warmth pooled in her abdomen and spread, easing out in all directions until even her fingers tingled. “My favorite part of that weekend was being with someone who makes me feel the way I do when I’m with you.”

“Good night, Jillian. Dream sweet.”

The next day, he telephoned. “Call me a romantic fool, but I already have your Christmas present.”

Jill jerked in surprise. “Christmas is a long way off.”

“The holidays will be here before we know it. You’ll love Christmas with us. Dream sweet, Jillian.”

Christmas. Despite her natural tendency to be cautious and plan things well in advance, she hadn’t given a thought to the holidays. Gavin Fairfield was an impulsive, artistic type. Yet, he already had them spending Christmas together. Tenderness surged as she teased, “It’s the middle of the day. I won’t be sleeping for several hours yet.”

“Yes, but I’m assuming you daydream about me on a fairly regular basis.”

The day before Gavin was due home, her fax beeped, her email dinged, her phone buzzed, and the mailroom guy hand delivered a flat nine-by-twelve envelope—all within seconds of each other. On the fax, she found a stock photo of Gavin. In her email, another stock photo waited. From the envelope, she withdrew a glossy eight-by-ten stock photo, personally autographed. A small giggle started low in her abdomen and built into a full belly laugh by the time it left her lips. She picked up her phone.

He answered on the first ring. “What’s up, Doc?”

She chuckled. “What’s with the stock photos?”

“They’re a little better quality than webcams. Just wanted to make sure you know who you’re spending all your spare time with after our ten weeks is up, tomorrow.”

Chapter Fifteen

Jill awoke with a start. Today marked the end of their ten weeks apart. Gavin’s plane would leave LaGuardia around eight that evening and touch down in Minneapolis just after ten.

Last night, he’d asked, “Will you be asleep?”

She’d responded, “Call me anyway.”

Jill stretched and nudged Sydney and Wonder who were curled around each other at the foot of the bed. Sydney opened one green eye, only mildly interested as she eased out from under the covers.

He’d be home today and tomorrow she’d see him. A good thing, too. She almost couldn’t remember how being in his arms felt. Just before she stepped into the shower, she shivered and glanced into the mirror.
Who are you kidding? You remember exactly how being in that man’s arms feels.
A hand ran up her arm and caressed her shoulder.

That’s why she’d planned a back-to-back day jammed with meetings. First, she’d meet with therapists, then faculty, and wrap up with Molly Lauren to finalize progress reports and go over recommendations. She stepped into the shower and welcomed the steaming hot jets, remembering the way Gavin liked to smooth soap over her skin, and the feel of his body, ready and eager, pressing into her backside.

She toweled off, dried her hair, swept it into a knot behind her ear, forcing all thoughts of Gavin into the background, and stepped into a charcoal gray pencil skirt and light gray shirt. A text popped in from Gavin just as she shrugged into her jacket.