Heart's Surrender (20 page)

“All right.” Gillian stood next to Sam’s chair. “Let’s go.”

“Ugh…shouldn’t we pay first?”

“That’s already been taken care off.” Gillian leaned down and whispered, “I have to be home in thirty minutes and I need some hot kisses before I drive away. Hot, hot kisses.”

“Oh.” Like a teenager, Sam’s cheeks warmed. “Sure, yes. Let’s go.” She got up from her chair and followed Gillian outside.

Moments later they stood in front of Gillian’s car. Just like they had on their first date.

“You’re so amazing.” Sam sighed.

Gillian’s smile was gentle as she stepped close, pressing her body against Sam’s. “Maybe. But in my eyes…you’re the beautiful one. Inside and out.”

Sam slid both arms around her waist. “Hi there.”

“Howdy.” Green eyes twinkled.

Sam buried her face in the crook of her neck, deeply inhaling the scent that was so typically Gillian. Sam pressed her lips against the soft skin and lingered there for a moment before she drew back again, tracing her left hand along Gillian’s jaw, fingertips tingling at the sensation. “I enjoyed this evening. A lot.”

“I’m glad you liked the food.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah. The food wasn’t bad.”

“And the wine.”

“Wasn’t too bad either.”

“The music,” Gillian teased with a playful smile.

“You’re a goof.”

“Maybe. But I’m your goof.”

“That you are.” Sam pressed her lips to Gillian’s in a soft, tentative kiss, eyes drifting close. She could get lost in this kiss and stay here forever.

Gillian complied with slow, tentative strokes of her lips and tongue, pressing even closer to Sam than seemed possible.

Sam released a contented sigh. Licking her lips, she rested her forehead against Gillian’s. “Go. Now. Or I will not be responsible for my actions.”

Gillian whimpered. “But I wanted more hot kisses.”

“You’re killing me.” She took a deep breath. “This really isn’t the place for making out.”

A pout appeared on Gillian’s face.

“Oh, look at that. A pout.” Sam planted another kiss on those tempting lips. “And now…drive away before I lose my self-discipline.”

With a sigh Gillian got into her car. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” She leaned down until she could look into those green eyes. “And I promise you that you will be the one begging me to stop kissing you on Saturday.”

“Think so?” Gillian batted her eyelashes.

“No. I know so.”

CHAPTER 19

“Which one of you is it going to be tonight?” Gillian’s fingers trailed over the dark green cotton nightie that accentuated her eyes and fit her like a second skin before she touched the cool dark blue fabric of the short cut silk pajamas that could almost be described as lingerie. She loved the way the smooth silk caressed her skin at night. A touch, soft like the hand of an experienced lover.
Sam.
Her eyes fluttered closed at the image of a naked Sam, of her firm, hot body, of the way she looked when she came. Beautiful. Desirable. Unbelievably hot. Gillian’s knees went weak. She sat down on the bed. The longing for Sam, for her touch, was so powerful and scorching that at times it threatened to overwhelm her. There was lust, a lot of lust actually. She loved Sam’s touch, her take charge attitude during sex, and her thoughtfulness. She had freed Gillian to voice her needs—needs she hadn’t even known she’d possessed. But it wasn’t just about sex anymore. And hadn’t been for a while. She wanted to be there for Sam and offer a massage when her back hurt. She wanted to make sure that she ate properly—no one could live on cold pizza several days a week. And she wanted to go to bed and to wake up beside her.

Gillian touched her lips, remembering the kisses they had exchanged after their last date. There was no denying Sam’s raw sexual power. She trembled inside. Little had she known that sexual desire could mix so well with…love.

The sound of running feet jerked her back to reality.

Seconds later her daughter rushed into the bedroom. “Grandma is here.”

Gillian groaned. Margret was the last person on earth she wanted to talk to right now—actually ever. Why hadn’t Charles, the chauffeur, come to pick up the children as usual? Talking to Margret when all she had on her mind was Sam and how many times and ways she wanted to come tonight…
Crap
. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “All right, thank you,” she said, composing herself. “I’ll be down in a minute, sweetie.” She put the silk pajamas into her overnight bag. Both children knew that she was going to Sam’s for a sleepover. Talking about her close friendship with Sam was a first step. The children didn’t need to know that her kind of sleepover would be a lot different from the ones they went to.

Gillian turned to her daughter and noticed for the first time that she held one book in each hand. “You’re staying for one night at your grandparents. You don’t need to take a whole library with you.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t need to choose which book to take if you bought me an e-reader. And if you don’t have a cup of coffee with Grandma before we leave, we’ll be the ones who’ll be grilled like in a bad police series. Grandma always wants to know everything…like what’s going on in our lives…” She lowered her voice, “…and in yours. And you never know what children say in their parents’ absence.”

Gillian’s pulse quickened. “Excuse me?”

“Sheesh, Mom. I was only joking.” Her brow furrowed. “There’s not a lot to tell anyhow. Your life is pretty boring.”

“Boring? Thank you very much.” She couldn’t help laughing.
You have no idea.

“Yeah.” Angela held her hands up in the air. “I mean with you staying home and being…you know, a mom and all. So are you having coffee with her before we leave or not?”

She didn’t want to spend time with the dragon lady, but Angela was right. If she didn’t have a cup of coffee with her, she would interrogate the kids.
Which she’s probably going to do anyhow
. Still, not talking to her wouldn’t be fair to the children. And—as awful as the timing was—she had wanted Margret to come and meet her on her own turf. “As I said, Angela, I’ll be down in a minute, and yes, I’ll have a cup of coffee with your grandmother,” she said, praying to God to give her strength.

Gillian’s stomach flip-flopped like an old tumble dryer as she looked down the wooden staircase that would take her to the living room, to Margret and an argument Gillian didn’t want to have today. She put a hand on her treacherous stomach. Arguments with her mother-in-law were like a showdown in one of those bad westerns Derrick had liked to watch. The outcome in those movies was nearly always the same—the hero won…wounded, maybe close to death but he won. That was the big difference to arguing with Margret. The hero never won. Margret did, leaving behind wounded enemies and Gillian had been wounded too many times to count until she had given in and played the game—don’t disagree, don’t force your opinion or even better…don’t have an opinion. Changing this habit was not only difficult but painful.

Breathe in. Breathe out.
You’re a grown woman. It’s your life.
Gillian bit her lip.
All right.
Straightening her shoulders she took another deep breath before she closed her eyes.
I am strong. I won against the blonde bimbo in the bar. I won Sam back. Sam.
The flip-flops in Gillian’s stomach area slowed down a bit.
I can do this. I will meet Sam later tonight. And I will move out of this house and start a new life. Sam is back in my life.
Gillian put a hand on the banister, the wood under her hands cool to her touch.
I am strong. I am not alone.
She opened her eyes.
I am not alone.
Warmth spread through her. That was what she had to cling to—she wasn’t alone. She had Sam at her side.
I can do this.
I will do this.
Margret has no power over my life. Not anymore. Slowly Gillian walked down the staircase.

As she was about to set foot on the last step Tilde came out of the living room, rolling her eyes. “I brought her a cup of coffee,” she hissed. “Unfortunately we are out of cyanide.”

Gillian couldn’t help but grin. At least there was a united front against Margret between the grown-ups in this household. “Wish me luck.”

Tilde only lifted her eyebrows. “I’ll make sure the kids are ready to leave.”

“Thank you.” Gillian ran a hand through her hair and went over to the door that led into the living room.

Margret stood at the window, looking out into the garden and onto the freshly mowed lawn.

Gillian flexed her fingers. The first pain had already set in after spending two hours with an activity she wasn’t used to. Mowing the lawn was hard work. She entered the living room and cleared her throat. “Margret. Good afternoon.”

“Indeed.” Margret turned around, her eyes hard and blue like a frosty mountain stream. She crossed the distance between them and lightly grasped Gillian’s elbows before dropping a single kiss to her right cheek. “How wonderful of you to join me.”

The scent of
L’Aimant
and old money tickled Gillian’s nose. “Unfortunately I don’t have a lot of time before I have to leave.”

Margret scoffed. “I’m sure you can spare a few minutes for your mother-in-law.” She sat down in a chair, and crossed her legs, her eyes never leaving Gillian’s. A cup of coffee stood on the side table next to the chair she had chosen.

“I see that Tilde already brought you some coffee. Do you care for anything else?”

“No, thanks dear. But maybe you would like to enlighten me as to who did mow your lawn? Do you have a new gardener?”

Here it comes.
Gillian’s heart beat a little faster but she plastered a smile on her face. “No, there’s no new gardener. I did it.”

Margret scrunched up her forehead. “You did what?”

“Mowed the lawn.”

Margret opened her mouth and shut it again before finally saying, “Why? We could have sent Ricardo over. There are people who get paid for this kind of work. There was no reason for you to do this on your own.”

Gillian shrugged. “The weather was nice. I had time. And it is a good work out.”

Margret stared at Gillian as if she had just confessed murder. “I really don’t know…” the sigh that followed was dramatic. Margret broke the eye contact and took up the cup of coffee. “Is this a new brand?”

Unsure why they were now talking about coffee instead of Margret drilling into her some more regarding the garden Gillian shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, it sure has a strange aftertaste.” She set the cup down again.

Gillian bit the inside of her cheek, remembering Tilde’s words about the lack of cyanide in the household. “Oh, maybe that’s Tilde’s new coffee. She went for something whisky flavored.”

“Does she want to kill me or only my taste buds?”

Gillian rubbed her temples. “I need some coffee. Would you like me to bring you a new cup? This time without flavor?”

“No, thanks.” Margret leaned back in her chair.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Gillian fled to the kitchen. Caffeine was the last thing she needed. Her heart was beating fast enough as it was. But getting a cup of coffee was a good excuse for a short break. She took a look at her watch. A quarter past five. She had to leave in fifteen minutes. With a sigh she opened the cupboard and stared at the cups, her gaze wandering to the few mugs that had found their way into their household since Tilde lived here. Gillian grinned and picked up a pink mug that was so ugly that she had considered throwing it away on several occasions. Margret would hate it.

After filling it up with steaming coffee Gillian went back to the living room, as ready for round two as she would ever be.

Margret was sitting in her chair as if holding court, every inch of her looking as formidable and unbending as a queen.

Gillian sat down across from her mother-in-law and placed the pink mug close to Margret’s cup—a cup that belonged to a set of the finest porcelain money could buy.

Margret’s eyebrows nearly crawled off her forehead, her gaze fixed on the pink ugliness that was sitting on the table.

For a moment Gillian expected Margret to pick up the mug and throw it to the floor or do something equally dramatic.

“Did you accidentally pick up charity waste somewhere, dear?” Margret scoffed.

Biting her cheek Gillian leaned back in her chair. Antagonizing her mother-in-law was as clever as waving a red rag in front of a bull. “Why?” She looked at the mug. “Oh…you mean the mug?”

“Yes.”

“Oh no. It was a present.”

Margret’s lip curled. “From a blind beggar?”

“No, from Tilde.” Gillian picked the mug up and enjoyed the taste of the smooth, hot beverage. “So, how is James doing?”

Margret’s jaw worked and Gillian expected another biting remark, fully prepared to counter it with an equally snarky remark.

“He’s…he’s well. Thank you.” Margret crossed her legs. “Michael Sherman, the new managing partner, asked him to mentor two new associates. James enjoys working with the young lawyers. He says it makes him feel young again.”

Gillian wasn’t sure if she was more surprised that Margret let the mug issue go or that James was still working what sounded pretty much like a fulltime job. “I thought he wanted to reduce his workload?”

“He did cut down, but he’s not made for staying home.” Margret avoided Gillian’s gaze.

“But what about your plans to travel to Europe?”

“It’s a pleasure deferred. There’s always next year.” Margret picked at something on her blouse before focusing her eyes again on Gillian. “But enough about us. Tell me what you’ve been up to. We haven’t spoken for such a long time.”

Gillian fiddled with a corner of the table runner. “There’s not much to tell. The children keep me busy.”

“I met Ben Shacker in church,” Margret said in the same tone she would use if talking about the weather. “He mentioned that he saw you at the zoo.”

And there it was…so far, everything had been foreplay but now the first real gauntlet had been thrown. Gillian’s flattened the cloth with slightly trembling fingers. What had Ben seen and more importantly, what had he told Margret? Gillian swallowed hard.
Don’t defend yourself. Play it cool.
“Yes, the children and I had a lot of fun.”

“He mentioned that you weren’t alone.” Margret’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“That’s right. A friend was with us.”

“Oh, do I know him?”

This was like a game of chess. Gillian shook her head. “It was a her, and no, you don’t.”

“Ben didn’t mention it was a woman. He only said that he had no idea who your friend was.”

“Ben doesn’t know my friends. Why should he? He certainly isn’t one of them.”

“And I don’t know her either?”

“No, you don’t. And honestly, meeting Ben was rather unpleasant. I still can’t believe that he left Winnie for that red-haired bimbo. Have you seen her lately? Winnie, I mean.”

Margret frowned and sat up straighter. “We met for dinner last week. She’s a strong woman.”

“I guess she’s stronger than I would have been in her position.” Gillian had often wondered if Derrick would have left her at some point. If he would have decided that he wanted to be free of her and the children.
Guess I’ll never find out.
She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “How many of your friends have been left by their husbands or been cheated on?”

Margret stiffened. “I don’t know. Why?”