Naked Hope (22 page)

“Just that I know you think you had a magical weekend at the lake cabin and that now you’re an item. I’ll bet he even said you’re the only woman he’s ever taken there. Did you know Gavin and I were there together the day of the accident? We were going to…break it in, so to speak. You know, christen the rooms.” She winked at Jill, adjusted her cleavage, and smiled at herself in the mirror.

Heart racing at what she’d just learned, she vowed to remain calm. Jill stepped forward until she violated Adrienne’s personal space. “All right, Adrienne. You’ve had your say. Mission accomplished. And now, we’re done here.”

“Not quite,” she said, handing over Gavin’s phone. “Take a good look. This will prove how things are.” She tucked the phone into Jill’s hand and flounced out the door.

Before Jill slipped the phone into her purse, she couldn’t help but see the photo of a proud Adrienne baring her breasts, her head resting demurely against Gavin’s. Her body stilled.
Damn
.

Several minutes later, they watched Baines drive away until he turned the corner out of sight. Jill shivered. Gavin reached for her hand. His fingers gripped hers. They crossed the street. Just inside the outer doors of Orchestra Hall, Gavin began, “Jillian, I apologize. The evening has been a disaster.”

“You have no idea,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes as she flipped his phone open and handed it to him. Her abdomen did a sickening flip.

Gavin glanced at the photo and frowned. He slid the phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. “That photo isn’t what it appears to be.”

Jill waited, hoping against hope whatever he said next would make sense—would ring true—and that his words wouldn’t hurl them into a world of hurt.

Gavin rammed a hand through his hair. “I didn’t even know she took it. I mean, I knew she’d taken a photo of herself. I didn’t know I was in it, and I certainly didn’t know it was on my phone.”

Jill’s gaze scoured his face.

“I was drunk. Stupid. Careless, even. But believe me when I tell you, Jillian, nothing happened.”

During dinner, the temperature had dropped. Jill shivered again as the November wind shrieked and blew them indoors.

He caught her hand. “I must do this press conference in a few minutes but you have to hear me.” He reached out and placed his hands on either side of her face. “I won’t apologize for who I am, or what I might have done in the past. I will only say that since meeting you, there has been only you.”

Jill felt the urgency of his words merge with her need to hear them. She breathed deeply and managed a calm, dignified tone. “I believe you.”

Gavin exhaled and gripped her hand tighter.

Her fingers curled around his as she continued, “Any woman who tries as hard as Adrienne did to get me to buy her story is usually selling rotten apples.”

“You believe me because Adrienne oversold her side of the story?” His jaw ticked and his eyes darkened.

Jill’s mouth tightened. She released his hand. “Take it and be grateful. Adrienne said a lot of things, Gavin. I’m still working through some of them.”

“But you believe me?”

“I believe what you’ve told me. The difficulty is that there seems to be much more you haven’t told me. I keep getting the story in bits and pieces from one source or another—but not from you.” She fought a frown. “I could understand better if the information came from you.”

Gavin took her hand. “Then here are a few more pieces. You remember I told you Liv and I were working on a concerto together. All but the last movement is done.”

Gavin looked at her as if this statement should have made a great impact.

Jill remained impassive.

When she didn't react, he said, “I’m blocked. I haven’t composed since the accident. Adrienne had to cancel the date for the premiere because the booking was for both Liv and me. Even if I could finish, I have no interest in it. That concerto is ours, intended for two pianos. The piece will never be performed.”

Jill ran her thumb across his lips, her heart full with anguish. “I’m so sorry, Gavin.”

He caught her hand and held it. “Before the accident, the concerto was reputed to be the greatest accomplishment in modern day classical composition. I sound like I’m tripping over my ego but that’s why the issue of that damn concerto keeps coming up. Why they won’t leave us alone.”

Jill cocked her head. “Those are the exact words Adrienne used earlier this evening.”

Wincing, he nodded. “It’s her copy and the phrases caught like wildfire. Look, a lot has happened tonight—none even close to what I had planned. Would you stay for the press conference?”

Jill tucked the long length of her hair behind her ear as she considered the idea.

“Please. I need you in my corner.”

Jill looked into his eyes. If there’d been even a flicker of manipulation present, she’d have declined. He stared back without blinking, his gaze holding hers.

“Please,” he repeated.

She sighed.
Steady, girl. You’re not out of the weeds yet.
“Yes, I’ll stay.”

Gavin let out another deep breath.

“And afterward I expect full disclosure. Things like why Adrienne stopped by the lake cabin over Labor Day Weekend and what the two of you argued about in the driveway. Or why you never mentioned it—and how she even knows about that place. I want to know more about the block you’re experiencing. I might be able to help you. And,” she took a deep breath, “I want you to explain why I’ve heard from several sources that while you were in New York, you found a music teacher for Olivia.” She’d never seen him look grimmer.

“Fair enough.”

They entered the cold-looking room in the back of orchestra hall that for the moment was serving as a press room. The room overflowed with wall-to-wall reporters milling around and talking natter.

“You certainly cut it close,” Adrienne snapped, glaring first at Gavin and then at Jill. “They’re ready.”

“Why is the press so hot tonight, Adrienne?”

Adrienne raised her chin. “Well, Gavin, I’ve warned you for months this might happen. Obviously, there’s a leak.”

Gavin steered Jill up the aisle and to the right as they reached the front, and tucked her into an alcove where only he could see her. “No one will bother you here.” He brushed his lips against hers. Even that briefest touch sent her senses reeling. She wanted to grasp his lapels and crush him to her—to stop time. Because the moment he went in front of that group of reporters, she had no idea what she might hear…what he might say…or whether things would ever be the same between them.

He took the podium and faced them—his back straight, shoulders erect, head tipped at a confident angle.

She didn’t need to see his eyes to know that beneath the carefully manicured public façade he projected into the gathering of hungry reporters, stood a man who believed life itself had betrayed him.

With a smile, he leaned into the microphone. “So, what are we talking about today?”

The room quieted.

A lone voice called out, “Maestro, I heard you’re previewing your new concerto Saturday evening.”

Gavin searched the crowed until he located the speaker. “Now, Jack, how would I do that? The concerto’s not yet completed.”

“Not the whole thing—just a preview. You’re saying you’re not?”

“I’m not.” He offered the crowded room an even smile.

“But wouldn’t that be a great way to

” Jack persisted

Gavin cut in, “Are you suggesting I need to generate interest?” He chuckled. “The last thing I need to do,” he spread his hands wide, “and I think all of you would agree, since here you stand—is generate more interest. Before I move on to the next question, let me just say my contract details for the premiere next spring restrict me from sharing any portion of the piece. I’m sure you’re not surprised.”

Several other reporters shouted out questions.

Gavin pointed. “Dan?”

“I heard that contract was canceled. Isn’t the real reason you won’t share a taste is because you can’t finish the piece?”

“That’s a fair question, Dan. You know the piece is one my daughter and I composed together. No one should be surprised to learn I’m waiting until Olivia and I can work on it together.”

Had he really said that?
Jill sucked in her breath and clamped her hands in her lap.

“But isn’t it true Olivia can no longer compose? What are you saying, Maestro? That you’ll never finish the concerto?”

Reporters hurled questions without waiting for Gavin to acknowledge them.

“What is Olivia’s present condition?”

“Why wouldn’t you just finish it on your own?”

“Why give up the performance date?”

“Sources say you haven’t written anything since you stopped working on the concerto. Is that true? And if so, why not?”

“I heard you were in New York looking for a music tutor for your daughter and that you found one. Any truth to that rumor, Maestro?”

Gavin put up a hand. “You know I can’t respond if you just keep pounding out questions. Give it a break and let me make my statement. I have every confidence Olivia and I will finish the concerto—together. Now, unless you have questions about Saturday’s performance, we’re done here. Adrienne has press passes to the performance if you need them.”

A reporter in the back called out, “You have quite a reputation with the women. What’s your relationship with Jillian Cole? Is there any truth to the rumor you and a woman other than your wife were partying at a cozy little getaway the day your wife was killed? And if so, was it the Cole woman?”

A hush fell over the room.

Gavin looked out into the crowd. His fingers gripped the edge of the podium and his jaw ticked. “Look, I know some of you believe public figures have no right to privacy. Perhaps, to some extent, we do abdicate our privacy. But for the last fifteen months, my wife’s death, my daughter’s illness, speculation about my career—circumstances that would be considered private if they happened to any of you—have been openly discussed and analyzed in almost every medium. I’ve been as gracious and tolerant as I know how to be, but tonight I’m drawing the line. From now on, my private life is exactly that—private.”

Chapter Seventeen

Gavin came up behind Jill while she stood at the counter in her kitchen pouring one of her favorite cabernets into stem-less wine glasses, hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of her jeans, and kissed the side of her neck.

Her hands shaking, she almost spilled the wine.

“Leave it,” he murmured.

She hesitated as a delicious warmth spread throughout her body.

His hands moved across her stomach, his lips against her ear. “So, we’re agreed. We talk in the morning?”

She turned her face to his. “Yes.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

“We talked every day.”

“Yes, and every day I wanted to do this.” He slid his hands under her sweater. His body merged against her backside as he nudged her against the sink and massaged the sides of her breasts. His fingers closed over her nipples and his lips coaxed the edge of her sweater off her shoulder. “You feel exactly the way I remember you.”

Eyes half-closed, she tilted her head. “Surprised?”

He kissed the side of her neck. “Memories have a way of getting better as they age. But you’re every bit as I remembered.” He turned her toward him and brushed his lips back and forth against hers.

His fingers, his mouth, the sound of his voice evoked a tremble in the back of her knees that raced up her spine until she couldn’t wait a moment longer and pulled him closer.

His hands slid down her body. “Whenever I’m with you, the word
callipygian
comes to mind. Maybe I’ll compose an ode to the woman with the callipygian curves.”

With a jab of an elbow, she pushed him away. “Are you saying I’m fat?”

He drew her back. “I’m saying I find you exceptionally beautiful—especially here.” He gave her a light spank and gripped her callipygian curves until she felt every part of his body against every part of hers. His lips sought out her mouth, the space behind her ear lobe, the under curve of her jaw. He nipped her shoulder and lowered the zipper of her sweater.

“Seems a shame you went to all that trouble changing your clothes.”

Smiling into his chest, she cuddled into him. “Why, because you’d rather strip off my business suit than my jeans?”

“So you’re amenable to being stripped,” he murmured.

Her body contracted with pleasure. She spread open his shirt and kissed his chest. “The act does seem inevitable.”

“Then I think these should be the first to go.” He hooked his thumbs into her belt loops and eased her jeans over her hips.

“And next, I think this should go.” He removed her hair clip and unwound the long length, freeing her hair.

“You object to my hair being up?”

“I prefer it down, the way you wore it at dinner. But so far, I don’t object to anything about you.”

“Except maybe my cello-playing,” she teased.

He stopped rearranging her hair and gripped her shoulders. “I was wrong…stupid. I judged you on some very superficial criteria

”

She pressed two fingers over his mouth. “You weren’t wrong. I’ll give you superficial, but you weren’t wrong. Besides…” She kissed him, nibbling his lower lip. “If I were a cellist, we wouldn’t be standing here about to devour each other.” Unwilling to wait a moment longer to feel the hardness of his body against hers, she tilted her head. “Now, how about taking off the rest of my clothes?”

Morning rolled in gray and heavy with snow on the way. Jill eased herself gingerly into the corner of the sofa, sipping her second cup of coffee, her body aching exquisitely from Gavin’s fervid attentions. “Let’s start with the accident. I don’t know if you’re aware but whenever someone mentions it, you act guilty. You said Baines had to come and find you at the lake cabin. Because you and Adrienne were trysting up there that day?”

His head jerked up and his eyes widened. “What? No.”

Jill set down her coffee, and patted the space next to her “When you pace like that, you leave me with the impression that you’re about to bolt. There’s room here on the sofa next to me.”