If Ever I Loved You (12 page)

"That's no excuse," Gina argued.

"Of course not, but there's nothing you can do about it
now except maybe believe Peter when he says he's sorry."

Gina choked. "Sorry! He hasn't said he's sorry, only that
he's willing to overlook my 'sexual experience' and continue with a
loveless marriage."

"What are you going to do?" Twyla asked quietly.

"I'm going to fight for a divorce. I want to be free to
get on with my life."

"Then why aren't you wearing Stewart's ring?"

The question was so unexpected that Gina could only stare
before she lifted her left hand from her lap and glanced at her naked
finger. "You noticed," she said stupidly.

Twyla nodded. "I noticed as soon as I saw you. I'm an
artist, I'm trained to observe details. Do you want to tell me about
it?"

Gina felt tears pressing against her eyeballs again and
blinked to keep them back. Stewart had told her not to cry for him and
she would honor his request. Hesitantly she gave Twyla the highlights
of her evening with Stewart, omitting the more intimate moments. She
finished by saying, "He's a very special kind of man and he was
understanding and forgiving."

"And hurt," Twyla murmured.

Gina bowed her head. "Yes. I hate myself for what I've
done to him." She took another sip of her coffee but left the doughnut
untouched. "Twyla?" she hesitated then continued, "Will you go to
Stewart? Sort of be a friend to him? He's going to need
someone…"

"You have no right to ask that of me, Gina!" The anger in
Twyla's tone was unmistakable. "I'm not in the market for your cast-off
men!"

Gina was stunned that her friend would put that
interpretation on her request and she gasped as she met Twyla's icy
glare. "I didn't mean—" she began.

Twyla combed her long slender fingers through her loosely
bound auburn hair. "I know," she said gruffly. "I overreacted, I'm
sorry."

Gina looked at her friend thoughtfully. Twyla had never
snapped at her like that before, and she certainly never lacked for
male admirers. She turned down more dates than she accepted, so why was
she so sensitive about offering Stewart a little moral support when he
needed it? After all Twyla and Stewart had been friends before Gina
ever arrived on the scene. In fact it was Twyla who introduced Stewart
to Gina.

Gina frowned. Was she missing something here? Had Twyla
and Stewart been more than just friends before Gina arrived?

No, she decided, there had never been any indication of a
deeper, more intimate relationship between them. Twyla had been
delighted when Stewart began seeing a lot of Gina, and later she had
urged Gina to accept Stewart's proposal of marriage.

Twyla rummaged through her purse and lifted out a crumpled
pack of cigarettes and her gold lighter, a sure sign she was troubled.
Twyla seldom smoked unless she was upset, but then she lit one
cigarette after another. Gina valued the older woman's friendship too
highly to let it be strained by pride or lack of communication.

She took a deep breath and said, "Twyla, am I being dense?
Did you and Stewart have something going between you before
I—"

Twyla inhaled deeply and blew smoke into the clean fresh
air before she answered. "Not really. Stewart and I started going
together shortly after I came out here. It lasted for several months,
but the wounds from his divorce were still raw, and I was determined
not to get seriously involved again with any man. We drifted apart by
mutual consent and I told myself I was being smart, independent, the
liberated woman."

She took another puff of her cigarette. "I'm still telling
myself that so let's change the subject."

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Gina blurted.

"Gina…" Twyla snapped as she ground her
cigarette out in the ashtray. "Yes, I suppose I am," she admitted, "but
what I decide to do about it is strictly my own business. I don't need
your advice or your interference."

Twyla rose and walked rapidly down the redwood steps and
across the street.

Gina sat rooted to the chair, frozen with shock. Twyla was
in love with Stewart! How could she, Gina, possibly not have known? She
and Twyla were so close. Twyla, her art teacher, had been the rock that
anchored her during those first grim months at the University of
Maryland. Twyla, with her salty banter and warm strength, had provided
the tormented teenager with a renewed assurance of her worth as a
person and her talent as an artist. And how had Gina repaid her?

Gina shuddered and leaned back wearily. Why hadn't Twyla
mentioned her brief affair with Stewart before? She'd simply introduced
him as her friend and they'd never shown any romantic interest in each
other. At least not in the three years Gina had been in Mendocino.

Stewart's legal residence was San Francisco. He owned a
lovely home on a hill overlooking the city and until a year ago had
only used the mountain home as a summer vacation cabin. It wasn't until
he started courting Gina in earnest that he began spending both summer
and winter there. Twyla had seemed genuinely pleased when they'd
announced their engagement. Either she was an excellent actress or Gina
had been blind and unfeeling.

She stood and gathered up her purse and the sack
containing the still warm bread. No, she thought, it wasn't lack of
perception on her part. Even with Gina, Twyla would reveal only the
feelings she wanted revealed.

Gina spent the weekend trying to get in touch with Twyla,
but she had apparently left town. Her house was locked, her telephone
rang unanswered and at Gallery By The Sea her employees would only say
that she had told them she wouldn't be in till Monday.

Gina alternately condemned and defended herself. Couldn't
she ever do anything right? She'd only wanted to love Peter and he'd
wound up hating her. She'd tried to spare Stewart and instead she'd
hurt him dreadfully. She'd been insensitive to Twyla's feelings and had
managed to alienate her closest friend.

Why was she making such a mess of everything? She'd made
it plain to all concerned that she wanted to divorce Peter and marry
Stewart. It's true she should have married him months ago, but the only
reason she hadn't was because she'd been afraid to make herself that
vulnerable to a man again. As for Peter, she'd left no doubt in his
mind that she wanted to be free of him.

But if that was true why did she come running every time
he beckoned, and why did she melt when he kissed her?

Her thoughts twisted and turned and spun in circles,
leaving her with a pounding head, a queasy stomach and an overpowering
desire to sleep and forget everything.

That was the reason she turned off her alarm on Sunday
night and didn't waken until the doorbell chime lulled her to
consciousness at ten o'clock on Monday morning. She jumped out of bed
and felt dizzy, disoriented by the depth of her slumber. Who could that
be? It was later than she usually slept but since it was her day off it
wasn't likely to be anyone from the gallery.

She quickly pulled her blue- and white-checked cotton
short robe over her matching nightie and glanced at herself in the
mirror. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, her hair was disheveled and her
lips looked full, as though they'd been thoroughly kissed. The doorbell
chimed again and she walked through the apartment barefoot as she
snapped shut the large ornamental snaps down the front of her robe.

The bell chimed a third time and she called, "I'm coming,
I'm coming," as she swung the door open. "For heaven's sake must you
make so much…"

The rest of the sentence died on her lips as her
sleep-filled eyes finally focused on Peter Van Housen looking like one
of those liquor ads picturing the handsome young executive at play,
only he wasn't holding a drink in one hand.

He grinned. "Are you always so grumpy in the mornings?"

"Only when I'm wakened out of a sound sleep," she snapped.
"What do you want?" She wished he wouldn't stand there looking so darn
sexy in charcoal slacks and a blue pullover sweater that matched his
eyes.

"For starters I'd like to come in…" he began,
then his eyes narrowed and his expression hardened. "Or aren't you
alone?"

"Of course I'm alone," she yawned. "I told you, I've been
sleeping—"

The full meaning of his question finally hit her and she
gasped. "My bed partners or lack of them are none of your business but
yes, this morning I did happen to be sleeping alone. Now if you'll
excuse me—"

She started to slam the door shut but he put his hand out
and held it open as he walked into the narrow entryway and closed it
behind him.

Gina turned to walk away but he caught her by the arms and
held her while his gaze roamed over her face. "Your bed partners most
definitely are my business, but my remark was uncalled for and I
apologize. You aren't awake enough yet to fake this kind of innocent
indignation."

He pulled her closer and the look on his face softened as
he whispered, "Do I get a good morning kiss?"

The question was irrelevant because he didn't wait for an
answer but covered her slightly parted lips with his own. Gina closed
her eyes and swayed toward him as the impact of his nearness, his
touch, swamped her. He smelled fresh, like the sea breeze, and although
his lips were warm his face was cool and clean-shaven.

He turned his head slightly and murmured against the side
of her mouth. "If I kiss you the way I want to I won't be able to stop.
Will you let me share your bed this morning, Gina?"

She wanted to say yes, to press her body against his and
feel the excitement of his hard maleness against her, to let him know
by her rhythmic movements of her desire for him. Why not? Why shouldn't
she let him make love to her when they both wanted it so much?

Because, you little idiot
, a cold
voice within her warned,
it wouldn't be making love, it
would be having sex. Do you want that
?

Her body cried,
yes, anything
, but
for once her mind won out. She pulled away from him and leaned against
the wall, her hands clasped in front of her to still their trembling.
She wasn't as successful with her voice and it quivered as she said, "I
invited you to share my bed once and you told me I wasn't good enough
to be your lover. Well now I don't want you, Peter, so keep your hands
off me."

He watched her through half-closed eyes as he said,
"You're lying to yourself, sweetheart, but I'll give you time to face
the truth. Just don't make me wait too long, I don't think I can stand
the frustration."

Since it was obvious that Peter had no intention of
leaving just yet Gina asked him to make the coffee while she went back
into the bedroom and dressed. It was a cool cloudy morning that smelled
of rain and she pulled on a pair of purple corduroy slacks and a
long-sleeved lilac blouse that did interesting things to her eyes. She
looked a little more wide-awake after she bathed her face in cold water
and she decided not to bother with make-up except for lip gloss in a
shade called plum pink.

Peter had the coffee ready when she returned to the
kitchen. She asked if he wanted breakfast and he explained that he'd
had his some time ago, but if she could wait an hour or so longer to
eat he'd take her out to lunch.

They took their coffee to the living room and sat together
on the sofa that faced the picture window with a full view of the bay.
Gina's left hand lay in her lap as she held her mug in the other one.
Peter took a swallow of his coffee then glanced over at her and
stiffened. His fingers clamped around her wrist and he raised her hand
as he said, "You're still not wearing your ring. Surely it doesn't take
this long to tighten the stone."

Gina was so startled by his abrupt movement that she
almost spilled her coffee, and she balanced her mug on the wide flat
arm of the sofa before she spoke. "I—I gave it back to
Stewart."

He also set his mug down and moved his hand so he could
twine his fingers with hers. "Does this mean you're going to withdraw
your petition for dissolution and come home with me where you belong?"
His voice was tight, almost harsh.

Gina pulled her hand away from him. "No, it most certainly
does not. It just means that I'm too fond of Stewart to keep him
waiting months, or even years, while you play games with the law."

"
Fond
of him?" Peter sneered. "You
were planning to marry him just because you were fond of him?"

Gina flared at Peter. "No way," she said heatedly. "I love
Stewart. Oh, not with the wildness that I once loved you, but my
feelings for Stewart are a lot deeper and more permanent and that's why
I couldn't keep him in that purgatory you arranged for us."

Peter was watching her closely. "And was Stewart pleased?
Did he thank you for releasing him from the engagement?"

She lowered her eyes. "No," she murmured as the memory of
the scene two nights before brought back the pain. "No," she repeated,
more to herself than to Peter, "he didn't thank me. I hurt him badly, but do you
know what he did?
He
comforted
me
.
That's the kind of man Stewart is."

Peter rubbed the nape of his neck in a gesture of
agitation. "Why did you need comforting, Gina?"

The tears she'd been so determined not to shed fell softly
down her pale cheeks. "B-because I couldn't bear knowing what I was
doing to him. I c-cried and he held me and told me to save my tears for
myself because I'd need them if I got mixed up with you again."

She put her face in her hands and sobbed, and then she was
in Peter's arms, crying into his shoulder. He held her gently, as
though afraid of frightening her away, and murmured, "Why does it upset
you so when you hurt Stewart? It doesn't bother you at all when you
torment me."