“You have a very nice ass, Gemma.”
My spine stiffens as I straighten and glare at him. “Don’t.”
Raising an inquiring brow, he makes his way to me, arms still behind his back. “Don’t what? Look at your ass or say that it’s nice?”
Shaking my head, I brush past him to pick up my jacket. I’m not going to let him do this to me again so he can just walk away when he’s finished. Instead, I do the mature thing and ignore him.
“Are we going?” I ask pointedly.
“Lead on, Miss Harris,” he replies, and moves to the open door. Making my way past him with my head held high, I cringe when he whispers, “And I’ll keep my eyes on the rear.”
Phillipe keeps a close eye on Gemma as she practically runs down the stairs to the front door. When she gets there, she wrenches it open and goes outside. She has left her hair out this evening, and as he moves closer, he can see the foyer lights shining off it, making it look like spun gold. Her hair appears so rich and luxurious that he wants to reach out and run his fingers through it. Considering the rigid way she’s standing and the determined look on her face, he should take the opportunity to do so, just to see her reaction.
When he reaches her on the front step, he looks down at her annoyed expression and suggests, “Let’s walk.” Passing her, he buttons his dark coat.
The wind is howling tonight, so he pulls up the collar on his coat and slides his hands into the pockets, looking to Gemma as she zips up her jacket.
“Where are we going?” she asks again, following behind him.
“To the river.”
“I didn’t even know there was a river here,” Chantel told him, smiling as she held his hand tightly.
Today, he decided to take her down there to have lunch. Running down the back of his property, the secluded area was always so peaceful.
“Well, now you know. It’s just a little bit of a walk. You don’t mind, do you?”
She gripped the crook of his arm. “You’ll guide me?”
Reaching around with his free hand to touch her bottom lip, he told her, “Every step of the way.”
He’s taking me down to the river.The river.That’s all I can think as I follow silently, the darkness mocking my uncertainty and me. I don’t know what I’m feeling as I watch him stride along the dirt path between the rows of grapes.
I know all about this river and what happened here, and I knew that eventually I would need to ask him questions regarding it. The one thing I didn’t count on was his taking me down to it, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about that.
“You’re very quiet back there. Are you okay?” His voice cuts through the cool night air.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, trying to show bravery in the face of complete consternation.
He stops on the path, just a few feet ahead of me, and turns around. In the inky blackness that’s surrounding me, I can’t make out his details, but I know his eyes are fixed on mine. As I draw closer toward him, I try to appear much more courageous than I am.
“Are you sure? Because usually you are much more chatty.”
That makes bravery a little easier, because all I feel at that statement is annoyance. “I’m a journalist, remember? It’s my job to be chatty and ask questions.”
As I look up into his perceptive eyes, his mouth pulls into a grim line. The wind is whipping around us, and I can feel my hair ruffling in the breeze as his shifts and falls down over his eyes.
“Yet you haven’t asked me one.”
I blink, trying to push everything I have heard, read, and been told out from my mind, so I can start fresh. I need to startblank and lethimtell me the story, but first, I find myself asking something I do not expect. “Do you still feel her here?”
The silence that follows is so discernible that I can almost reach out and touch it. I hear his feet shift as he bends slowly, lowering his face to within inches of mine. His tormented expression comes into sharp focus through the night.
Quietly, he asks, “Do you?”
Licking my lips, I nod once. “Yes, I feel like she’s here.”
“Right now?”
