Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
marlowe
I don’t see much of gunner over the next several days.
He leaves early in the morning and comes home very late. I know he’s under a lot of pressure at work, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s also avoiding me.
When he crawls into bed at night, he doesn’t pull me into his arms like he used to. He doesn’t spoon me, nestling his face in my hair and protectively curling his arm around my waist. He stays on his side of the bed, leaving an ocean of space between us. I can practically hear his mind churning in the darkness before he eventually falls asleep.
During the few waking times we’re together, an uneasy tension hangs between us. He’s quiet, distant. When he speaks, his voice is measured. When he smiles, he smiles with his mouth but not his eyes.
Laurene’s warning keeps playing on a cruel loop in my head. When he gets bored with you—and he will—he’s going to send you packing.
Was she right after all? Has Gunner already grown bored with me? Or has he simply decided I’m not worth the trouble anymore?
I don’t have any answers. The only thing I’m certain of is that something has broken between us, and I don’t know how to put the jagged pieces back together again.
On Friday night, I sleep in my own room for the first time in weeks. The large bed feels foreign and empty after so many nights spent in Gunner’s bed. It takes me a while to get reacclimated.
After tossing and turning for hours, I’ve just drifted off to sleep when the mattress dips behind me.
I feel his heat as he slides under the covers. Then he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me back until I’m firmly tucked against his front and my head is cradled on his other arm.
It feels like heaven, so exquisitely wonderful that I have to swallow back a grateful sob.
Gently he begins stroking my hair. His touch is a salve to my soul after four days of painful alienation.
He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. We just lay there in the dark, listening to each other breathe. Eventually his hand drifts from my hair to rest over my hip, a warmly comforting weight.
Staring out the window at the half moon, I whisper softly, “Promise me we’re going to be okay.”
He doesn’t answer.
I tell myself it’s because he’s fallen asleep.
But somehow I know better.
on sunday evening we attend an art opening at a major gallery in the Hyde Park Historic District. The featured artist is the daughter of one of Pantheon’s early investors.
When Gunner introduces us to each other, I can’t help feeling a prickle of envy. Gianna is absolutely stunning with aqua blue eyes, sculpted cheekbones and sleekly bobbed black hair. Her skin is golden from a summer spent in Italy and her makeup is flawless. She’s wearing a clingy yellow chiffon dress with knee-high stiletto boots. Tall, lithe, with legs that go on for days, she looks more like a supermodel than a burgeoning artist.
“Nice to meet you, Gianna,” I say as we shake hands. “Congratulations on your exhibit.”
“Isn’t it amazing?” she gushes breathlessly. “I’m so stoked.”
“You should be. It’s your big night.” Gunner takes in the guests milling around eating canapés and appraising the art on the walls. “Good turnout.”
“Thanks to you ,” Gianna practically squeals. “Even my publicist admitted that most of these people wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t invited them. No wonder Daddy’s always singing your praises.”
Gunner smiles. “Is he here yet?”
“He’s on his way.” She leans close to Gunner and whispers excitedly, “Sebastian Locke is here. I couldn’t believe my eyes when he walked through the door. I mean, he only happens to be one of the most famous art critics in the country. What’s he doing at my little exhibit?”
Gunner looks indulgently amused. “Have you met him?”
“Yes, but I was so nervous I probably didn’t make the best impression.” She links her arm through Gunner’s and simpers up at him, lashes batting like butterfly wings. “Can you reintroduce us? Help convince him I’m the next Georgia O’Keeffe and not a tongue-tied airhead?”
Gunner chuckles. “I’ll do my best.” He winks at me and I smile back.
Gianna clings to him as he takes her around the room, introducing her to the prominent art critics and collectors in attendance. He’s a patron of the arts with the power and prestige to make or break careers. Watching everyone suck up to him is both amusing and fascinating.
I’m considerably less entertained by the look of adoration on Gianna’s face. It’s her big night, and I certainly don’t begrudge her her moment in the spotlight. But every time she laughs and lays her head against Gunner’s shoulder, I shrivel up inside. Things are still shaky between him and me, so I’m feeling especially vulnerable tonight.
When I’ve had enough of trailing behind them like a third wheel, I swipe a flute of champagne from a passing server and wander off on my own.
I end up chatting with a fashionable silver-haired woman with a posh English accent. While drinking champagne and nibbling caviar canapés, we discuss the art world and debate surrealism versus expressionism. It’s a riveting conversation, and she’s visibly impressed with my ability to hold my own. I attribute my knowledge to my father, who fostered my love of the arts by taking me to museums and art shows from the time I could walk.
“I like you, Marlowe Somerset,” the woman declares with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re a credit to Mr. Ransom. A delightful asset. I certainly hope he realizes that.”
Before I can respond, we’re interrupted by an older gentleman soliciting the woman’s input on a painting. Before she departs with him, she hands me her business card, which identifies her as Lilith Halifax, Founder and Executive Director of Halifax Music Society.
“Please call if there’s ever anything I can do for you,” she says with a wink and genuine affection in her voice. “Perhaps we can grab lunch sometime and continue our fascinating tête-à-tête.”
“I’d like that,” I say, smiling warmly.
As I tuck her card into my teensy clutch, a sugary peal of laughter draws my attention to a large crowd gathered around Gianna and Gunner. She’s holding court, laughing and gesturing with her hands, happy to have a captive audience. When she looks to Gunner for some type of affirmation, he rewards her with an approving smile.
A twinge of jealousy clogs my throat. It’s pretty obvious, and not at all surprising, that Gianna is infatuated with Gunner. But is he attracted to her? Would he sleep with her if the opportunity arose?
He has a ravenous appetite that craves variety , Laurene’s taunt scrapes across my brain like barbed wire.
I feel physically sick at the thought of Gunner being with Gianna during one of the late nights he’s supposed to be working. Would he betray me like that? Could he?
Chugging down an anxious mouthful of champagne, I roam around the corner and stop to study a huge abstract titled Feeding the Soul . It has fields of orange, yellow and blue overlaid with random circles and squares. Gianna says the painting was inspired by messy dining tables at a trattoria she frequented this summer. That might explain why it looks like blobs of cheap food coloring haphazardly hurled at a blank canvas.
The unkind thought brings a stab of guilt, and for a moment I question whether I’m judging Gianna’s painting too harshly because she’s after my boyfriend. But no, that’s not it. The truth is I’m just not a fan of her work, and that’s perfectly okay. With a roomful of admirers, she certainly doesn’t need my support.
Just as I’m about to move on, firm arms wrap around me from behind.
My heart jolts with surprise before a smile overtakes my face. I gladly melt into Gunner’s embrace, his warmth seeping into my body like a welcome summer breeze, soaking every part of me.
He pushes aside the heavy curtain of my hair and rests his cheek over my ear, and together we stare at the painting in front of us.
“She’s talented,” I feel obligated to say.
There’s a long beat of silence.
“The potential is . . . there.”
I look over my shoulder at Gunner, surprised by his tepid endorsement.
“Her father has been a loyal investor for years,” he explains, lips faintly twitching. “Considering the fortune he spent on her art school education, he has a vested interest in promoting her artistic endeavors.”
“Ah,” I say delicately, reading between the lines. He’s helping Gianna as a personal favor to her father, not out of some overwhelming belief in her untapped talent. The relief I feel is admittedly pathetic.
Nuzzling my nape, he slides his hand down the front of my body, broad fingers splaying across my stomach. My pussy quivers at the feel of him, thick and hard against my lower back. It’s been a week since we made love. The longest, most excruciating week of my life.
“You didn’t eat much of your dinner.” His breath dances along my neck as he speaks close to my ear. “Are you sure you didn’t hate the restaurant?”
“Of course I didn’t hate it.” The exclusive restaurant with Hill Country views was one of the finest restaurants I’d ever been inside. “It was perfect, Gunner, and so was the meal. I just wasn’t very hungry.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
I nod, touched by his concern. “Just feeling a little bloated. It’s almost that time of the month.”
His big hand flexes against my belly, gently pulling me closer as he rumbles against my skin, “I’ve missed making love to you.”
Heat pours through me, and a heavy ache settles between my thighs. “I haven’t gone anywhere,” I murmur pointedly.
“I know. I’m the one who’s been missing in action.” Remorse threads his voice, and he exhales a deep breath. “I owe you an apology for the way I’ve been acting.”
I swallow hard, not saying anything. Just listening.
“I don’t . . . I hope you’re not thinking of leaving.” His voice is layered with uncertainty, a rare vulnerability that tugs at my heart.
“Is that what you’re worried about? Me leaving?”
He doesn’t answer.
When I try to turn around, his hand tightens against my midsection, keeping me in front of him with my back turned. As if he doesn’t want me to see his face.
My heart beats faster. “Gunner?—”
“I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispers a little raggedly. “Do you think we can?—”
“Sorry to intrude.” It’s Gianna, and she sounds anything but sorry.
Biting back a frustrated sigh, I turn to watch as she latches onto Gunner’s arm with both of hers.
“Daddy just arrived. Will you come say hello and reassure him that I haven’t done anything to embarrass the family name?”
“Of course.” Gunner bends his head to kiss my bare shoulder and then my cheek, whispering in my ear, “I won’t be long.”
I nod and force a smile. Watching them walk off together, I’m struck by what a stunning pair they make, with their striking blue eyes and raven hair. It’s a punch in the gut, compounding my misery.
“More champagne?”
I turn to see a pretty server standing there with a tray of champagne flutes. I smile feebly and hold up my half-full glass. “Thanks, but I’m still nursing this one.”
Instead of moving on, she slowly looks me over, taking in my one-shoulder pink jumpsuit and crystal-encrusted heels.
There’s no mistaking the envy in her eyes as she drawls mockingly, “From humble housekeeper to glammed-up girlfriend. Well played, Cinderella.”
I frown at her. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ve heard of me. My name’s Brynn. I used to work for Gunner.”
“Oh?” I give her a closer look. She’s in her late twenties with sultry dark eyes and two long brown braids draped over large breasts. She’s wearing a white shirt, an apron over black dress pants, and black flats.
“So how are things going at Casa Ransom?” she asks.
“They’re going well,” I say evenly.
“Are you sure? Because from the look of things . . .” She deliberately lets her voice trail off.
I follow her gaze to see Gunner and Gianna laughing with their heads bent together, their glossy black hair blending perfectly. Jealousy tightens like a knot in my chest until it’s hard for me to breathe.
“Are you sure you don’t want more champagne?” Brynn asks with venomous sweetness. “You look like you could use it.”
“Nope.” I toss back the rest of my drink, plunk the glass down on her tray and smirk at her. “Nice chatting with you. I’ll give your regards to Gunner.”
As I start to walk away, she calls after me, “You’re not the first housekeeper he’s fucked.”
Her words stop me dead in my tracks.
“Did you think you were special?” she taunts scornfully. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but you’re not.”
I whirl around to stare at her. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” Her lips spread slowly in a vicious smile. “I can still feel his big cock in my mouth, and I’ll never forget how good his cum tastes.”
I suck in a breath, my heart plummeting right along with my stomach.
A flash of satisfaction lights her eyes.
I look across the room at Gunner, who’s now talking to Gianna’s father. Catching my gaze, he frowns and glances at Brynn. His eyes narrow as recognition darkens his face.
Brynn lets out a low, nasty chuckle. “That’s the look of a man who knows he’s busted.”
With a calm I’m nowhere near feeling, I say to her, “You and Gunner are both adults. Why should I care what did or didn’t happen between you before I met him?”
“You shouldn’t.” She pauses for maximum effect. “Unless he told you that you’re the first employee he’s ever crossed the line with.”
My head is reeling and my heart is splintering. But I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing me crumble, so I look her in the eye and say coolly, “I’m sorry your job performance wasn’t up to Gunner’s standards. Hopefully you’ll have better luck with this gig, though I gotta tell you, your hospitality skills suck. You might want to work on that.”
Her lips thin.
Before she can spew another word, I turn and walk away from her.
Gunner is striding purposefully toward me. There’s a stony, furious glint in his eyes and his mouth is set in a hard line.
I don’t want to get in a fight or cause a scene. I just want to leave.
“What’s wrong?” he growls when he reaches me.
“I don’t feel well,” I mumble. “I’m leaving, but you can stay. I’ll call an Uber?—”
“Like hell you will.” He cups my elbow and steers me through the crowd toward the exit.
We don’t exchange another word until we’re settled in the backseat of the car with the privacy glass raised.
“What did Brynn say to you?” Gunner demands.
“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper tightly.
“Clearly it does. You’re white as a fucking ghost. Tell me what she said.”
I just shake my head, staring blindly out the window. I’m remembering the time I asked him about his previous housekeeper. He got so angry and defensive that I felt guilty for even bringing her up. He told me he’d never mixed business with pleasure before. He told me I was the first, and I believed him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m such a damn idiot.
“I don’t know what she said to upset you,” Gunner grinds out, “but she’s a manipulative liar?—”
I whip my head around. “Was she lying about you fucking her?”
“YES!” he booms.
“You never had sex with her?”
“Hell no!”
“What about her giving you a blowjob?”
Something like guilt flashes in his eyes before they harden again. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh, please! She had your dick in her mouth. It’s exactly what I think.”
“No, it’s not,” he snarls. “If you’d shut up and let me explain?—”
“By all means,” I say sarcastically. “Please explain to me how a blowjob isn’t a blowjob.”
He glares at me, his eyes so dark they appear black in the dim light of the backseat.
I return his glare, crossing my arms expectantly.
“Before you came into my life,” he begins in a tight voice, “I was so consumed with work that I rarely spent any time at home. Mrs. Calder handled my household affairs, so I had very limited contact with Brynn. But I’m not dumb or blind. I know when a woman’s trying to seduce me, so I noticed all the little things Brynn did to get my attention. Like shortening the hem of her uniform dress, loosening extra buttons to show off her cleavage, sashaying past my office in skimpy workout clothes. Hell, she even dyed her hair blond to look like my fiancée. I almost didn’t recognize her tonight because she went back to her natural color,” he growls in annoyance, shoving a hand through his own hair before continuing, “She was sneaky and calculating. She knew how to walk close to the line without crossing it.” He pauses. “Until that night.”
My pulse is racing unnervingly fast. “What happened?”
He clenches his jaw. “Mrs. Calder came to me one day, told me she wasn’t pleased with Brynn’s work and was thinking about letting her go. Brynn apparently overheard us talking about her, because she decided it was time to make her move before she got fired. About a week later, I had a hellish day at work and then Laurene broke up with me, which only worsened my mood. Not because I loved her, but because I hate to fail at anything. I went to a bar that night and got hammered, then came home and passed out on the couch. Sometime later I woke up and found Brynn kneeling between my legs with her hand on my zipper. The room was dark, and in my dazed confusion, I thought she was Laurene until she spoke. I was half drunk and mad at the world, so in a stupid moment of weakness, I let her give me a blowjob.”
“You must’ve really enjoyed it,” I accuse, my stomach twisted with jealousy. “She says you came in her mouth.”
He scowls. “That doesn’t mean anything. It was nothing special and I regretted it immediately afterward, though I was more disgusted with myself than with her. When I fired her the next morning, she threatened to sue me for sexual harassment. I told her to go for it. She didn’t, unsurprisingly.” He grits his teeth, never tearing his gaze from mine. “I’m not proud of my behavior that night. If I could go back and change things, I would in a heartbeat. But I can’t, and you’re just going to have to accept that.”
I bite hard on my bottom lip, white-knuckled fingers gripping the tiny clutch in my lap.
He stares at me, his expression grim and frustrated. “Mar?—”
“You told me you never fool around with your employees. But that wasn’t completely true, Gunner. Brynn is a piece of shit for taking advantage of you while you were drunk. But whether or not you initiated the encounter, the fact remains that you were intimate with her, and you lied about it when you didn’t even have to.” I shake my head at him, my chest heavy with disappointment. “First the situation with Elliott Campion and now this. What other secrets are you keeping from me, Gunner? For all I know, you’ve been screwing Gianna every night you claimed you were working late.”
His face darkens with fury, but when he speaks his voice is controlled. “Is that how you see me? As a cheater?”
“I don’t know, Gunner! How can I trust you when you keep lying to me?”
He falls silent.
We’re sitting on opposite ends of the seat, and the chasm between us has never felt wider. It scares me like nothing else.
I watch as he turns away to stare out the window, his profile in shadow. My heart is thudding and I can barely breathe.
“I’m not,” he murmurs after a while.
“You’re not what?”
“Having an affair with Gianna.”
My throat tightens, though whether it’s in relief or fear of his next words, I can’t tell.
“Whatever you think of me, just know that I would never fuck another woman behind your back.” He turns his head and pins me with his cold gaze. “If I ever decide I’m done with you, trust me, sweetheart, you’ll know.”
He lets the vaguely ominous threat hang between us, twisting my heart in knots.
Then he turns back to the window and doesn’t say another word for the remainder of the drive home.