When Lightning Strikes (Whiskey Creek #1)(28)
Author: Brenda Novak

Shit… He’d hoped by giving himself a bed partner, even one who slept on her own side and wouldn’t let him cross that imaginary line, he’d have better luck, some reason to stay put instead of rambling around the house. But nothing seemed to help. He figured he could take a sleeping pill, but considering his state of mind, he was afraid of where that might lead. He didn’t want to toss away one crutch only to grab another. Ty deserved a better effort than that.

Rolling over, he scooted toward Gail. He was afraid to get too close for fear she’d think he was making a move. But maybe the steady sound of her breathing and the solidity of her presence would anchor him, somehow ease his insomnia. If he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend she was Bella and this was before they’d torn each other apart—that Ty was still a baby sleeping in the next room.

It might’ve worked, but Gail wasn’t asleep.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, slightly embarrassed when he realized she was watching him.

“Don’t you ever sleep?”

“Not much. Not these days. What are you doing up?”

“Thinking.”

He punched his pillow. “Be careful. Don’t do too much of that or it’ll drive you crazy.”

“Is that what it does to you?”

“Unless I stop the whole process by dousing my brain with alcohol.”

“Which you can’t do at the moment.”

“Or any moment in the next two years.”

“I’m glad you’re taking that seriously.”

He blew out a sigh. “It’s been a whole seventy-two hours.” He could’ve given her the minutes, too. He was pretty sure she understood that.

“So…now you’re looking for other distractions.”

“Except there’s nothing on the list of approved activities.”

She adjusted the bedding. “Is that why you didn’t watch the  p**n  flick you showed me?”

“Part of the reason.”

“I suppose you could start gambling, if you must have a bad habit.”

“I’m willing to consider anything.”

“I believe it.” When she laughed, he realized she was more attractive than he’d ever given her credit for. She wasn’t a beauty in the classic sense, but…there was something about her.

“You’re a lot prettier when you laugh,” he said.

She didn’t respond, just stared at him with those serious gray eyes, and he could tell she’d discounted his words as soon as he’d uttered them.

“I meant that as a compliment.”

“You don’t have to pay me compliments.” Her shrug suggested she didn’t believe him, anyway. “I don’t expect you to pretend to see something that’s not there.”

The silence stretched with only the swoop of the ceiling fan to interrupt it. “Is that why you won’t let me touch you?” he asked at length. “You think, for me, it’s all about the perfect body?”

She seemed to consider her answer carefully. “No, I don’t think you care what I look like or that you’d even notice. For you, sex is like alcohol. You’re just trying to deaden the pain.”

She was right. Since the breakdown of his marriage he’d gone from one woman to the next. Some of them he’d never seen before or after, never even learned their names.

“You’re going to be hard person to live with, Ms. DeMarco,” he said.

Her lips curved into a wry smile. “Why’s that? Because you can’t bullshit me?”

“Because you see enough truth to think you know it all.”

“I haven’t been wrong yet.”

“Yes, you have. I do think you’re pretty,” he said, and got up.

She leaned on her elbows. “Where are you going?”

“I have a project I’m working on.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I need something to do,” he said, and pulled on his jeans.

* * *

Gail woke up alone in Simon’s bed. After dressing in last night’s clothes, she wandered out of the room and down to the kitchen, where his chef, a stout man who reminded her of Emil Villa, insisted on making her an omelet for breakfast. Once she was finished eating, Simon’s driver, a handsome younger man of maybe twenty-five, came in through the French doors and announced that he’d be happy to take her home whenever she wanted to leave.

“Where’s Simon?” She gazed out a wall of glass toward the pool—the direction from which the driver had come.

He set about gathering his keys. “I’m sure he’s on the property. All the cars are here. But, honestly, I can’t say where. He texted me earlier and asked me to drive you home whenever you’re ready. That’s all I know.”

Arching a disbelieving eyebrow, she waited for him to look up. When he did, he acted a little embarrassed, as if he understood that she knew he was covering for his boss. From the driver’s perspective, Simon had had his fun with her; now his job was to drop her off, like he’d probably done with so many women before her.

But why would Simon treat her the same as all the others when they needed to convince everyone he felt more for her?

“Or…I could text him and tell him you want to see him—if you like,” the young man added reluctantly.

Mere platitudes. He didn’t expect her to take him up on that offer. He was obviously skeptical it would do any good, even if she did.

Gail didn’t dare risk having Simon brush her off in front of his staff. Not saying goodbye was bad enough. “No, that’s fine,” she said, but to compensate she fondled the ruby pendant at her throat. “I’m ready whenever you are. I just wanted to thank him for the necklace.”

On learning that Simon had given her such an expensive gift, the cook and the driver exchanged a meaningful glance, but they said nothing more. The chauffeur, dressed in a polo shirt and chinos, grabbed a pair of sunglasses off the counter and led her through the house to a tunnel that ran to the garage—a garage that appeared to be detached when viewed from ground level.

“This reminds me of the Bat Cave,” she said.

He opened the back door of the limousine. “Comes in handy.”

“I bet.” Raking her fingers through her tangled hair, she settled against the leather upholstery. She had none of her toiletries, hadn’t even been able to brush her teeth. Maybe Simon had done her a favor by letting her duck out with no farewell.