He brought the robe back to the living room and handed it to Gloria. “Why don’t you go into the bathroom, take off your wet clothes, and put this on. There’s a dryer in the laundry room we can use.” He hesitated. “Will it be all right to put your dress in the dryer?”
“It’ll have to be.” She smiled. “No, it’s fine. Thank you.”
When she retired to the bathroom, he hurried to his room to strip off his wet clothes. Even his underwear was damp. Leaving his wet things in a lump on the floor, he quickly changed into a dry T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants.
He returned to the living room and found her in his robe, which though knee-length on him, fell to mid-calf on her. The sleeves drooped far beyond her wrists. She must have used his comb, because her hair was neatly smoothed back from her forehead and down her shoulders. Wet hair and baggy robe didn’t matter. She was luscious.
Her brown eyes gave him the once-over. “You look comfortable.”
“You look lovely.” It was no lie.
She gave a disbelieving laugh and rolled her eyes. A moment of uncertain silence passed when he realized he was gazing at her silk-draped form too intently.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, sit down. Please. I promised you something to drink. Will hot tea be all right?”
“Fine, thanks.” She sat. “Oh, I left my things in the bathroom.”
He turned the heat on under the teakettle, then took her dress from where she’d draped it over the shower rod. He found no panties or bra, so she must still have them on under the robe.
“I’ll just pop down to the laundry room and put this in the dryer,” he told her.
“Put the setting on warm,” she said. “It shouldn’t take long to dry.”
“Be right back.”
She was in the kitchen, pouring steaming water into mugs, when he returned from the laundry room. “The kettle was whistling, so I took it upon myself…”
“That’s fine. You found the tea bags, I see.”
“Yes. In the cupboard over the sink, exactly where I keep mine.” That serendipitous coincidence made her smile.
For the first time ever, Bryan wished he had some decent china instead of his mismatched collection of mugs. She should be drinking from a delicate gilded teacup instead of some cheap mug he’d picked up from God knew where.
They bustled around his tiny kitchen, finding the utensils they needed. He even found a lemon in the refrigerator that wasn’t too shriveled. Gloria cut it into slices while he peered into an open cupboard. “Sugar or honey?”
“Honey, please.”
He spooned a generous amount of honey into both their cups, and Gloria topped them off with a slice of lemon. Their elbows bumped as they worked side by side. He liked having her in his kitchen and allowed himself to imagine her beside him every morning, preparing tea or coffee.
Hold on. Back that train up, Professor.
How the hell did he get from wanting her in his bed to dreaming of her as a daily companion?
Frowning, he picked up both mugs and carried them into the living room. He set hers on the coffee table and waved at the sofa. “Sit.” He took the armchair.
She picked up her tea, cradled the mug as though her hands were cold, watching him curiously. She’d caught on to his sudden shift in mood.
“Tell me more about your daughter.” He’d blurted the words on impulse. “How long has she worked with you?”
“Since she graduated beauty school and got her license. Why do you ask?”
“You’re so devoted to her. She’s obviously a huge part of your life.” What he didn’t say was
I want to know about you. What’s important to you, what you care about. Everything about you
.
“She
is
my life.” Gloria shrugged as though asking
what else is there to say
? “We only had each other after her father died.”
“You mentioned the rest of your family and
Abuelita
—”
“Oh, yes. They were great support. But at the end of the day, it was Desiree and me. We’d both lost the most important man in our lives.”
“How did you manage after his death?” Again, he wanted to know her intimately, not only sexually. Something he’d never felt before, with any of his former lovers.
“Before I was married, I’d been a stylist for a couple of years. I stayed home when Desi was young and went back to work after Emilio died. Gradually, I learned the business side, too, and moved up from stylist to opening my own place.”
“So you’ve gone from stay at home mom to business owner. That’s quite an accomplishment.” Especially considering she’d done it while caring for her daughter and struggling with grief.
Her expression glowed with warmth. “Thank you.”
“How did your husband…no.” He quickly shook his head. “I’m sorry, never mind.” He felt ashamed of his ghoulish impulse to ask how her husband had died. What difference did it make?
But Gloria was undisturbed. Perhaps she was used to fielding the question. “How did he die? He was a construction worker. He fell sixty feet off a bridge and…” She shook her head. “It was terrible. The company tried to make it seem as though Emilio had done something wrong, but we later discovered it had a history of unsafe practices.”
“My God. That’s unforgivable. I hope you sued their asses.”
Her jaw tightened. “I did. I had a little girl to raise, and they’d taken away her father. My husband. I wasn’t about to let them get away with that or with trying to blacken his name when he wasn’t alive to defend himself. I had to fight them, but I finally got a settlement.”
He nodded in approval. “Good for you.”
“It shouldn’t have had to come to that, though.” Her shoulders fell in a slump. “There are times I feel so guilty…”
“What on earth for?”
“For all of it. Construction’s an iffy business, you know. There are boom times and lean times. Emilio had been out of work for a few months before taking the job. I was staying home at the time, but he wouldn’t hear about me going back to work. He was so proud. You know, old fashioned.
He
wanted to be the breadwinner. He was so happy when he got hired. Then he started coming home worried, saying things were sketchy. People were hired who didn’t know their job, they weren’t being trained properly. I begged him to quit, but he wouldn’t listen. He just stopped talking about it. That was worse, ’cause I knew how worried he was, but he couldn’t share it.”
This was the man Gloria had loved. Still loved. A man so devoted to his wife and daughter he, perhaps foolishly, put his life in danger to support them. Bryan felt small, humbled. He could never compare to Emilio. He’d never loved anyone that deeply.
Shit. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about himself. Gloria was more important. She needed comforting. “You couldn’t make him share if he didn’t want to.”
“But I should have done something. Argued with him. Gotten a job regardless, let him like it or lump it.” She let go a hopeless sigh. “He always felt as though he had to prove himself to me. My family is middle-class, professional. My dad’s a teacher, mom’s an accountant. My brother’s a lawyer. Emilio’s family…struggled. It never mattered to me, but it bothered him. Like he had to show he was…” Her voice trailed off as she struggled for the right phrase.
Bryan finished the thought. “That he was worthy of you.” He understood where the man was coming from. But Emilio was far more worthy of Gloria than he, Bryan, was. What had he, a child of privilege, ever struggled against? Unless one counted struggling against forming attachments.
“I suppose.” Gloria’s eyes were dull, her face pinched with remorse. “I never felt that way, though. I always considered myself lucky to be with him.”
Bryan was sickened with himself. Why had he nosed into Gloria’s past, just to satisfy his own curiosity? Why was he allowing a beautiful woman,
this
woman, to beat herself up about things over which she’d had no control?
He was responsible for her sadness now, and he wanted more than anything to relieve it.
“Gloria.” He leaned forward in his chair. “You were both lucky. To have found each other. To have had a love like that.”
Suddenly he felt disoriented. Had he really just uttered those cheesy, melodramatic lines? He, the academic, who’d always looked down his nose at the poor slobs who fell for the romantic BS, the insipid cards and flowers and valentine hearts?
Apparently, Gloria didn’t find his words cheesy at all. “You’re right.” Her voice was strong, her gaze clear. “We were lucky.” She set her mug on the coffee table. “I think my dress must be dry now, don’t you?”
Still a bit dazed, he stood. “I’ll go check.”
She was right. The dress was dry. Bryan took it from the dryer and fluffed it out, then held it to his nose. It still held Gloria’s flowery scent.
She was still subdued and quiet, immersed in her thoughts, when he returned. “You’re welcome to change in my bedroom.”
“Thanks.”
He knew when she took the dress without looking at him, that he’d lost her. Lost her to the past and memories of Emilio. How could he get her back?
While she changed he went into the bathroom, opened the cabinet above the sink. Removed his razor and a can of shaving cream.
A few moments later, she stopped in the doorway. She was dressed, her purse tucked under her arm. “I left your robe on the bed.” She hesitated as he turned to her with the items in his hands. “What are you—”
“I’m going to shave.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really? You’re sure?”
“Really. I’m ready for a change.”
“You’ll look wonderful, wait and see, you’ll…” She stepped into the bathroom and set her purse on top of the clothes hamper. “You know what? Let me do it.”
Just what he hoped she’d say. “You want to?” He was already offering her the shaving cream, his spirits buoyed.
“Yes. No, hold on to that,” she told him, meaning the shaving cream. She pointed to the closed toilet lid. “Sit. Where do you keep clean towels?”
“Right there.” He indicated a cabinet behind her.
“Ah.” She opened it and pulled out a couple of clean hand towels. Then she turned on the hot water tap. “Make sure this gets good and hot.”
After the water ran for a bit, Gloria soaked a towel then gingerly wrung it out. She placed the hot towel on his face. “Too hot?”
“No.” His voice was muffled under the terry cloth. “Feels good.”
“That softens up the beard.” When she removed the towel, he was greeted by her smile. “Now for the shaving cream. Do you have a brush?”
A brush? “You mean for my face? No. I just put it on with my fingers.”
“Hmm. Too bad. You should have a badger brush. That works best.” She squirted a puff of cream onto her hand. “Never mind. We’ll do it this way.”
She smoothed the cream onto his face, and he sighed. It felt as luxurious as when she’d washed his hair. How lucky was he, having a beautiful woman attend to him like this?
“Feels good?” The glint in her eyes told him she enjoyed it, too.
“Mmm hmm. I could definitely get used to this.”
She rinsed her hands and peered at his razor. “Is this blade good?”
“It should be.”
“We should pop in a new one for best results.” Which she did once he told her where the blades were. “Ahh. Now we get started.”
As she bent closer a burst of unease rippled through him. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
She straightened and stared down her nose at him. “Meaning, will I turn your face to hamburger? Do you think I’d offer if there was any chance of that?”
His ears burned. “No, of course not.”
The hand holding the razor fell to her side. “Bryan.” Her face was serious. “Do you trust me?”
He did, though his conscience tweaked him, reminding him that he wasn’t being honest with her. “Yes.” He lifted his chin, offering his face to her ministrations. And if she cut his throat, well, maybe he had it coming.
She didn’t cut his throat. In fact, she did an excellent job of shaving him with long, light strokes, using her free hand to pull his skin tight as she worked. When finished, she wiped the excess shaving cream away and applied a cold wet towel to his newly shaven face. “This closes the pores.”
She took a step back. “Stand up and take a look. What do you think?”
He thought he looked like a guy who’d just gotten the cleanest shave ever. No nicks or bumps. He rubbed his hand along his cheek and throat.
Gloria stood by, waiting for his verdict. “Do you like it?”
“Yeah. I do.” He especially liked her radiant smile of satisfaction at his approval.
“You’ll turn the heads of all the girls on campus.”
He faced her. “I don’t care about turning their heads.”
The moment between them stretched and their gazes connected as though they were playing an erotic game of
who’ll blink first
.
Gloria lost. “Oh.” Looking away, she cleared her throat. “One last step I almost forgot. Do you have any lotion?”
He pointed it out in the cabinet, and she motioned him to sit again. Unsmiling, she completed her task, smoothing aftershave lotion on his cheeks and chin. Her hand lingered, stroking his cheek. “Mmm. Feels good, doesn’t it? So smooth.”
Bryan covered her hand with his own. They were so close, her face just inches from his. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.
She kissed him, softly pressing her full lips to his. Bryan let her take the lead, afraid if he moved, if he even twitched, he’d scare her away. With a long slow exhalation, Gloria seemed about to retreat, then moved in again, brushing her mouth against his teasingly.
Without thinking, he stood, closing his arms around Gloria, clasping her to him. Her full breasts flattened against his chest, her nipples hard beads. Their mouths opened, and their tongues caressed. Gloria tasted sweet, like the honey in their tea. Like the nectar drawing a honeybee to the flower. He slid one hand up from the small of her back to cradle her head as he tilted in to deepen their kiss. His fingers tangled in her springy hair, now mostly dry.
But that pull on her hair was enough to startle her out of their embrace. “No,” she said suddenly, pulling back. Her hand flew to her mouth. “No. This isn’t right.”
Not right? What was she talking about? It was more than right. “Gloria—”