Page 21 of Tru Blue
Aw hell. Kennedy. He turned away, silently cursing his traitorous cock for sucking the life out of his brain.
“Best not to overreact,” she said quietly. “I thought you had clothes in the bathroom. Sorry.” She lifted Kennedy into her arms, taking one last, long eyeful over her shoulder before saying, “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go check on your sleeping baby brother and let your big brother get dressed.”
As she disappeared through the door, he looked down at his rigid cock, knowing there weren’t enough cold showers in the world to calm the flames raging inside him.
Chapter Seven
FOR THE HUNDREDTH time in as many minutes, Truman glanced at Gemma leaning against the doorframe of the side bay door in her skintight jeans and cream-colored top. She was smiling down at Kennedy, who was sitting a foot away in the grass happily playing with a princess doll Gemma had brought her and wearing the plastic tiara she’d also given her. The doll had a matching tiara. Kennedy was so taken with the gifts, she’d been playing with them all morning. Lincoln was asleep in the playpen a few feet away. Gemma had draped a blanket over the top of the playpen to keep the sun from making him too warm. She made taking care of kids look so easy, while he stressed over every little thing. The serenity of the scene conflicted with the chaotic night he’d had—the chaotic couple of days he’d had—and yet she made it seem attainable for more than a few minutes. But if anyone knew how quickly life could change, it was Truman.
Like this morning.
The scene in the bedroom played out before him once again—her calm, interested gaze, the way she’d licked her lips, like she wanted to remove his towel and taste him as badly as he wanted to devour her. While neither had said anything about their encounter, the heat between them had amped up to inferno levels. Every time their hands grazed, sparks ignited. Every glance smoldered. As a result, he’d been sporting a hard-on at half-mast all morning. Luckily, Dixie and Bear weren’t coming in today, so there was no one else to witness his ridiculous half-cocked barrel.
“Anyway,” Gemma said, bringing him back to their conversation. She was telling him about her princess shop.
Truman listened as she described the differences between a two-year-old’s birthday party and a seven-year-old’s, which apparently includes a walk down a red carpet with lights and music and lots of fanfare.
“We do manicures and pedicures, hair and makeup, but that’s not the best part. The best part is watching the kids pick out their outfits without their parents telling them what to wear. Some of the primmest girls pick leather and lace, while some of the tomboys pick frilly dresses.” Her eyes lit up, and she looked past him, as if she were watching a scene unfold in the distance. “And then there’s this moment when it all comes together and these little girls suddenly become different people. That’s even better than watching them pick out the clothes, actually. That moment of revelation and freedom when they realize they can become anyone they want to be. I love that.”
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he began seeing something other than dark images taking shape in his mind, and his fingers itched to create without being driven by frustration. Gemma was artistry in motion. As she told him about her shop, he imagined painting her. He envisioned ribbons of yellow, pinks, and orange interspersed with blues and purples for her hair. He imagined painting her face in a flurry of swirls and feathery strokes of pastels with bold streaks of navy and black for those seductive glimmers that shined through. And her body? All those luscious curves and strength could only be painted as a mix of flawless beauty and sweet rebellion, with golds, pale greens, yellows, and hot pink.
“Now that you know my passion, will you tell me about your drawings?”
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “You’ve seen them. Tell me more about you.” He wanted to know everything, even if he wasn’t ready to reciprocate. “Why princesses?”
She narrowed her sharp eyes in that serious but playful way she had. “Why drawings?”
He shifted his attention back to her car to avoid the question.
