Real Men: Rugged Rebels: Watch and Learn / Under His Skin / Her Perfect Hero

“You were married?”

“For five glorious years … and two horrible ones.” Lillian gave a little laugh.

“I’m divorced, too,” Gemma said, and realized it was the first time she’d said the words aloud without flinching.

“Life is too short to be with someone who doesn’t make you happy.”

Two male employees came in and looked their way while they filled their coffee cups, devouring the women’s legs, Lillian’s in sheer black stockings, ending in black stilettos, Gemma’s bare and tanned, ending in red peep-toe platforms. Gemma felt a little rush of adrenaline, and noticed that Lillian sat taller, too. The men smiled and waved, then left, exchanging regretful glances.

Gemma ran her finger around the top of her coffee cup. “But what if what makes you happy … isn’t good for you?”

“You mean like drugs or alcohol?”

“No … this is a different kind of addiction.”

Lillian nodded thoughtfully. “Does it hurt anyone else?”

“No … the participants are … willing.”

“Does it expose you to harm?”

“Not if I’m discreet.”

The woman smiled brightly. “Then what’s the harm?”

“The guilt,” Gemma whispered. “And I’m afraid it will keep me from growing close to someone.”

Lillian took another drink of her coffee. “Did your ex go along with it?”

Gemma wet her lips. It was strange—and liberating—to talk to another admitted exhibitionist. “No. He knew nothing about it.”

“And were you close to him?”

“As it turns out, no.”

“So depriving yourself didn’t bring you the closeness you crave either, did it?”

Gemma shook her head, realizing the woman spoke from experience.

Lillian patted her hand and lowered her voice to a whisper. “So why deprive yourself? The right man will accept you and all your delicious inclinations.” She glanced at her watch. “We’re up in fifteen minutes, and I’d like to stop by the ladies’ room. See you later?”

Gemma smiled and nodded, then sat at the table a little while longer looking for answers in the depths of her coffee. She wished she had Lillian’s fearless outlook, could be so comfortable with her inclinations. She took a drink from her cup, remembering that for a few weeks during her senior year in college, she had been fearless.

But her fearlessness had also nearly ruined her life.

She turned her mind away from the disturbing murky memories, then emptied her cup. Still nursing more questions than answers, Gemma walked toward the cloakroom. The woman at the counter smirked when Gemma shrugged out of her coat, revealing her short red skirt and white bustier. Gemma ignored the woman’s slight because her midsection was already tingling at the anticipation of leading the first tour of the day. When she walked up to the meeting place, she saw that the rain hadn’t hurt today’s reservations. If anything, the crowds were more swollen than usual.

The tours lasted anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour, at the discretion of the guide, with a fifteen-minute break in between each tour. Gemma finished two tours before lunch, then ate with Lillian in the employee break room. It was becoming a habit, chatting away the hour. Lillian seemed to always know what to say, steering clear of talk about family and Gemma’s ex, keeping the conversation light and breezy. The woman was well traveled and well read, with a wicked sense of humor.

Gemma laughed at something that Lillian said and realized with a start that she and Chev were the only people in her life who didn’t know or weren’t somehow connected to Jason.

Then bizarrely, she heard Jason’s name on the television mounted high in a corner of the break room. She glanced up to see a clip showing Jason artfully dodging questions about the prosecution of the statewide drug ring that she’d read about in the papers. He sat behind a grand desk in what appeared to be his new office. His framed law degree hung on the wall behind him, and Gemma wondered idly what he had done with the photo of her that had once sat on his desk, wondered what the view was like from his office window. And was that a new suit? Her chest tightened unexpectedly at the proof that there was now a big chunk of his life that she’d been excluded from.

“He’s handsome in a scholarly sort of way,” Lillian offered, noting Gemma’s sudden interest in the TV.

“Yes, he is,” Gemma murmured. Her tongue watered to say the words that until recently she had been married to the handsome, powerful man. But she was mindful of the need for discretion in revealing her relationship to Jason to anyone she worked with. If word leaked out that she was giving tours for an X-rated exhibit, the press would have a field day … and her “delicious inclinations,” as Lillian had called them, would be exposed.

“Funny,” Lillian said, “but I pegged you for liking a different kind of man.”

“What do you mean?”

Lillian shrugged her slender, toned shoulders. “I don’t know, I just pictured you with someone a little more … free-spirited.”

Gemma didn’t respond, but the image of an exotic, brown-skinned man rose in her mind.

Lillian wadded up the paper wrapper from her sandwich and grinned. “Life is a smorgasbord. See you out there.” She pushed to her feet and walked away.

Gemma finished eating lunch and took a few minutes to freshen up. Two more tours to go before calling it a day. Her step quickened as she neared the meeting place and slid her mask into place. Her body was already smoldering from the morning tours. Beneath the red skirt, she wore a white thong that bit into her skin with the insistence of a lover. Her clit was swollen and sensitive from the constant friction … just the way she liked it. She’d have to take it easy this afternoon or she might lose control and wind up giving the wide-eyed attendees a show they hadn’t bargained for.

She extended a smile to the people already gathered for the first afternoon tour. “Welcome,” she said warmly.

“We’ve been looking forward to this all week,” a woman said, gesturing to a man next to her that Gemma assumed to be the woman’s husband. “Our marriage counselor suggested that we come.”

“That’s nice,” Gemma said. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’m having fun already,” a guy standing nearby said, eyeing her bare legs. Everyone laughed, Gemma included, identifying the resident flirt of the group. There was always one guy who thought he could tease his way to getting Gemma’s number at the end of the tour. What he didn’t realize was that Gemma’s “watch and learn” mantra extended to more than just the tour.

The area filled with more people, all slightly damp from the rain still falling outside. Warm, moist bodies, producing pungent odors, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation. Gemma silently counted heads, then squinted. The man in the back dressed in dark slacks and short-sleeve formfitting white shirt looked like … wait a minute—it couldn’t be.

Chev?

He gave her a little nod of acknowledgment, then his gaze flicked over her costume. He must have abandoned his work site for the day due to the rain. A bolt of pure sexual electricity lit up her body at the realization that he would be watching her on the tour … and watching other people watch her. Pleasure coursed through her, but she was suddenly nervous, smoothing her hair behind her ear and fidgeting with her hands. Her thong suddenly seemed even more invasive.

After a deep breath to calm her nerves, she asked for the group’s attention and announced they were about to begin. “A reminder that no pictures are allowed for this exhibit. Please keep your cameras stowed at all times.”

As she scanned the faces in the crowd, she stopped abruptly. Lewis Wilcox—the reporter who had tried to thwart Jason’s election and who had left her voice messages since the divorce. Alarm washed over her. Did he somehow know her identity? At the moment he was staring at her legs. She held her breath, but when his gaze reached her face, he gave the mask no more than a cursory glance. She relaxed a little, conceding it was just bad luck that he would be the reporter the TV station would send to check out the tour and that he’d wound up in her group. At least she had the mask to protect her identity. She was grateful she’d never talked to the man on the phone, so there was no way he’d recognize her voice.

Chev was frowning at her and mouthed Are you okay? She nodded and gave him a singular smile, grateful for his concern, even if he didn’t know the source. She started the tour and, within a couple of minutes, became immersed in her lecture. She tried not to seek out Chev’s face, but she couldn’t help it. If the man cut a sexy figure in his faded work clothes, he was devastating in dress clothes. Not surprisingly, he was garnering a few looks of his own from women in the group, but he seemed unaware. He seemed, she realized happily, to have eyes only for her.

CHEV HADN’T BEEN SURE what to expect, wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get in Gemma’s group. In fact, he’d first landed in a group led by a petite, curvy woman with a pink streak in her black hair. When she’d noticed him craning, hoping for a glimpse of Gemma, the woman had quietly asked him if he was looking for another guide. When he’d nodded, she had covertly pointed him through another door where he found Gemma corralling a crowd of about twenty-five people.

The sight of her in the sexy red-and-white getup made his mouth water and his cock twitch. Her legs were long and bare and tanned. And that black mask of hers made him feel … proprietary. It was as if they shared a secret over the heads of the other people standing between her and him.

As she welcomed the group and gave them a brief overview of the exhibit, his chest warmed with admiration. She was engaging, her voice low and husky. A natural performer, and these people hadn’t even seen her best show.

She led the group into the first area that housed nude photography that dated practically as far back as the time when photography was first invented. She moved like a cat, her limbs lithe and limber, her curves straining against the confines of the snug red skirt and white bustier. He stayed in the back of the crowd, felt the temperature of the group’s collective libido rise as she explained the risks taken by the models and the photographers to capture the provocative images.

His own fire was stoked higher, not by the pictures of the white-thighed women in the photos who hid their faces from the camera, but by the heightened color in Gemma’s cheeks as she caught his eye. Her mouth curved into the most sexy smile, setting off the beauty mark near the corner of her mouth.

“Blondie’s hot, isn’t she?” a man next to him whispered.

Anger sparked in Chev’s belly watching the man salivate. Protective feelings crowded his chest. He wanted to pick Gemma up and carry her out of there, but he knew she enjoyed this part of the job … being watched.

And who was he to get between her and her fetish? Nobody, just a guy passing through. One of the many drooling guys who enjoyed looking at her, except he couldn’t get enough, was starting to feel compulsively … attached.

As the tour progressed, she exchanged frequent glances with him, her body language becoming more animated. His body responded in kind until his erection throbbed against the fly of his dress slacks, his balls full and achy. From the photography exhibit, she led the group into a room of sexual devices. She donned a pair of white gloves and removed a couple of the primitive dildos from their containers. He saw the man who had made the comment about Gemma being hot stealthily lift a cell phone and snap a couple of photos. Chev nudged the man’s arm, then shook his head meaningfully. The jerk looked sheepish and put away the phone.

A slow burn was consuming Chev by the time Gemma led the group into the room housing sex furniture. Perspiration trickled down his back, and his hands fairly shook from wanting to touch her. She lectured on the surprising number of beds, swings, benches and chairs built through the ages especially to aid in having sex or having sex in more interesting ways.

Behind the black mask, Gemma’s eyes were bright and her hands languid as she touched the sometimes humorous-looking contraptions. But some of the more modern pieces of formed maple and leather upholstery were beautifully crafted and sent his mind spiraling in carnal directions,picturing Gemma draped over the contours, positioning her supple body perfectly to receive his.

Chev gave himself a mental shake and exhaled slowly. His body was like a furnace and every glance from Gemma in her red-and-white peep-show outfit added fuel to his fire. Worse, he suspected every man in the group was on the verge of incineration. He didn’t like the idea of other men looking at Gemma, sporting hard-ons for her, but he could tolerate it if he knew he’d be in her bed tonight.

In truth, he’d settle for watching her undress and pleasure herself.

But at the end of the tour, despite the fact that he was burning up for her, Chev didn’t seek her out. He sensed that the more he behaved like a stranger, the more intrigued she would be. It was a tactic he didn’t like, but if it gave him a chance to get closer to Gemma in the long run, then it was worth pretending. So when she bade the group goodbye and caught his eye, he nodded curtly and beat a hasty exit out of the museum.

The rain was still slashing down, but Chev skipped an umbrella. He jogged through the downpour to his truck and climbed inside, drenched. Driving his fingers into his damp hair, he exhaled loudly. He’d hoped the wetness would cool his desire for Gemma, but it hadn’t.

And it was time to face the fact that his longing for her had moved from something physical to something essential.

14

AT THE SIGHT of Chev’s receding back, unexpected disappointment billowed in Gemma’s chest, leaving her breathless with confusion. Her watch-me games had never before included this element of … loss. Part of the thrill had been the fact that it was a stranger watching her, a person she would probably never see again. Performing for Chev had seemed safe because he was moving on in a couple of weeks. She hadn’t anticipated missing him after he was gone. If this achy sensation was any indication of how she would feel when he was out of her life, she might be in trouble.

Gemma put her hand to her throat, felt the heat there. Having his eyes on her during the tour had heightened her excitement to nearly unbearable levels. It was as if he were next to her, stroking her, whispering in her ear. For the first time, she’d wanted the crowd to disappear and leave her alone with one man, this man who could bring her body to the brink of orgasm simply by raking his dark brown eyes over her. If Chev could do such amazing things to her erogenous zones with only a glance, what kind of havoc could he wreak with his hands … his cock? A shiver raised gooseflesh on her scorching skin.

After letting management know she’d had a reporter in her group, she moved through the last tour of the day like an automaton. The rain had diminished but the soggy drive home seemed so interminable she thought she might break through her skin. She couldn’t wait to get home, but was half-afraid of what might happen when she did.

Chev’s truck sat near the curb, empty, but lights were on throughout the Spanish house. Puddles of muddy water sat in his construction-torn yard. Her yard looked almost as bad from the rain and the mess that the peacock had left her with. She leaned forward and looked up into the bird’s favorite tree but didn’t see the telltale swoop of tail hanging down. Perhaps the weather had driven him on to fairer skies.

She pulled the car into the garage and walked inside, her heartbeat thumping wildly. Still wearing her thin raincoat, she climbed the steps to the second floor, barely registering the stuffiness of the still air. The rain falling on the roof of the house lent an insular, cozy feel to her bedroom. She donned the black mask and walked directly to the picture window, wondering if Chev would show up at his to watch her. When she pushed aside the filmy curtain, she inhaled sharply.

He was there, waiting for her.

The light in the room behind him silhouetted his wide shoulders and broad chest. Still in his dress clothes, he stood with hands braced on either side of the rain-streaked pane, his gaze dark and hungry.

For her.

Gemma shrugged out of her coat, let it fall to the floor. She loved the fact that the rain had fogged the edges of the glass, had softened her frame. The white bustier had constricted her all day, pushing her breasts up and out. Now her increased breathing threatened to spill them over the top of the garment. Her nipples were showing, hard and extended. She pressed them against the window, gasping at the shock of the coolness on the sensitive tips. Her eyes closed involuntarily against the sensations spiraling through her body. She wished she could make the session last but knew she was too wound up to draw it out.

When her eyes fluttered open, though, Chev was gone.

Gemma pressed a hand against the frame in distress. Rejection and shame washed over her. She turned away, panicked by the emotions bombarding her. She couldn’t need this man … she couldn’t. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes.

Then the sound of the doorbell pealed into the house.

CHEV WAITED in front of Gemma’s door, water streaming off his hair and fingertips. Enough was enough. Watching her would no longer satisfy his lust for her. If she didn’t answer the door, he’d leave her alone. Because as much as she obviously loved being an exhibitionist, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He held his breath and listened for noise inside the house, any indication that she was going to answer the door. Several seconds went by … then a minute … then two.

Chev pulled his hand down his face in frustration and turned to go. So be it.

And then the door scraped open.

He turned back to see Gemma standing there, still wearing the mask and holding the black raincoat in front of her. Her eyes were questioning but unwavering.

He reached her in two strides and gathered her in his arms, lowering a savage kiss on her mouth. She came alive, responding with the intensity he’d known she possessed, her movements frantic and a little desperate. He backed her into the house and kicked the door closed. Her raincoat slid to the floor. Chev deepened the kiss, exploring her sweet mouth, the prospect of experiencing all of her making his hands quake.

Gemma moved toward the staircase and pulled him with her. She half reclined, half pulled herself up the steps backward with him on top of her, crawling over her to keep up with her, snatching a kiss here, dropping a bite there. She smelled of an enticing mix of earthy perfume and rain.

“I’m getting you wet,” he murmured, licking the moisture from her collarbone.

“Yes, you are,” she whispered in a husky tone that sent another surge of lust ripping through his body. With both hands, he nudged the red skirt higher to reveal the miniscule white thong underneath. The knowledge that she’d been wearing it all day while he watched her at the museum sent a jolt to his balls. Taking advantage of the leverage the stairs provided, he knelt between her knees and lowered his head to capture the thin fabric in his teeth. When she moaned and thrust her hips up, he buried his head between her thighs and tongued her heated folds through the thin barrier, inhaling her rich, womanly scent.

She drove her fingers into his hair, urging him on. It was all the encouragement he needed to roll the thong down her legs for full access to the nest of light brown hair that at this moment held the answer to every question pummeling his body. He clasped her bare thighs and opened her legs wider to him, then lowered his mouth to her glistening sex, kissing, licking and sucking her engorged clit. Her musky nectar filled his mouth, fueling his desire for her to unbearable heights.

From her frustrated noises, he sensed that she, too, was close to the edge. “Please, Chev … please.”

He stabbed his tongue inside her and moaned against her sensitive pink flesh to send vibrations to her pleasure centers. Concentrating on her enjoyment helped to keep his own arousal in check. She came with a great anguished cry of satisfaction, her clit pulsing against his tongue, her knees squeezing his shoulders. Masculine pride filled his chest that he could deliver her to a place where only physical joy mattered. He allowed her to recover for a few seconds, but he knew his own body well enough to know that he couldn’t hold out much longer.

He picked her up and carried her the rest of the way up the stairs to her bedroom. When he released her, she slid down his body with her arms looped around his neck, a sleepy, sexy smile on her face beneath the mask. He kissed her beauty mark, then claimed her mouth. He reached under the skirt to cup her bare ass in both hands, feeling her wetness on his fingers.

She pulled his damp shirt over his head, then unfastened the waistband of his slacks and lowered the zipper. Chev stepped out of them, shucking his waterlogged shoes and socks in the process. His briefs clung to him, his desire for her unrepressed. He reached for her, wanting to rid her of her clothes, but Gemma pushed him toward the bed and urged him to sit. Then she walked out of arm’s reach.

When she began to unlace the white bustier, Chev leaned back on his elbows to enjoy the show. With the skirt rucked up, hugging her thighs, her bare, tanned legs looked a mile long in those red high heels. His cock surged. Clear liquid oozed out of the head that protruded from the waistband of his briefs, pooling on his stomach. She slowly unlaced the bustier and allowed her breasts to fall free. He groaned to see the magnificent globes up close, his hands itched to touch the distended pink nipples.

She turned away from him and gave him a coy smile over her shoulder, then shimmied the skirt down to her ankles. Her tight ass made his mouth water, but when she bent over to step out of the garment, the view made the moisture on his tongue evaporate.

“Come to me,” he commanded, his voice hoarse.

She turned and walked to the bed, her breasts bouncing, her thighs still shimmering with wetness.

“Take off the mask.”

She shook her head. “I like it better this way.”

Not in a position to argue, Chev pushed off his underwear, releasing his raging erection. She climbed on top of him and wrapped her fingers around his dick. The sensation made him buck. He clasped her hand. “I have to have you now. Let me get a condom before I explode.”

Gemma stopped and for several agonizing heartbeats, Chev feared she would say that she didn’t want to have sex. She seemed to be balancing on some sort of precipice and for an angry split second, he thought it was good that she could trust him. If she said no, he would find a less pleasurable way to achieve his release, but another man who had been tantalized by her watch-me games might not be so accommodating.

“I have a condom,” she said finally, then leaned over to a nightstand and removed one from the drawer.

Her ex-husband’s condoms, he realized in a haze. With her hands on him, rolling on the thin sheath, he frankly didn’t care where it had come from.

Chev flipped her onto her back and settled his body over hers. He feasted on her breasts, sucking and biting on her nipples until they were hardened and scarlet.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Oh, yes.”

Chev had always prided himself on taking it slow with his lovers, but with Gemma, he felt feverish. And suddenly, he couldn’t wait any longer. He kissed her mouth and her neck, then entered her silky channel in one deep thrust. Her body clenched around his like an exquisite spring—he set his jaw against the tornadic pull of her core.

Even as his body found a rhythm with hers, something akin to fear reared in his chest … it had never been like this before. This … force that seemed to be drawing the life fluid out of him. She lifted her hips to meet him stroke for stroke, her nails digging into his shoulders. Behind the mask her eyes were glazed with passion.