Penny Jordan - Substitute Lover

‘The sight of a nude male surely can’t be so shocking, can it? After all, there was Paul … the two of you were married, even if you are claiming that his death made you frigid. You must have known what boys look like.’

The hint of teasing in his voice made her skin burn. She was too stunned to correct his mistaken assumption that her frigidity was the result of Paul’s death. ‘Boys, yes, but … but you aren’t a boy, Gray.’

He didn’t say anything, but Stephanie had the distinct impression that he smiled faintly before he pulled his shirt on.

Watching his fingers move deftly over the buttons, securing them so that the tanned expanse of his torso with its shadowing of dark silk hair was hidden from her, aroused the most curious sensation in the pit of her stomach. He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a set of cuff-links.

‘Damn, I can’t seem to manage these. Come and give me a hand will you, Steph?’

Numbly she walked over to him, trying to focus her eyes on the sinewed strength of his wrist as he bared it for her inspection. The contrast between his dark, tanned skin and the crisp whiteness of his shirt cuff was curiously disturbing. She wanted to put her fingertips over the strong pulse she could see beating under his skin, and feel its heat. She wanted the comfort and security of his arms, in the same way she had wanted them when Paul was killed.

It seemed to take a lifetime to secure both cuff-links, but at last it was done. When she stepped back from him she was surprised to see how shaky she felt.

‘I’d better go down and check on dinner.’

As she stepped away from him, Stephanie thought she heard him laugh softly.

What was happening to her? she wondered numbly as she went downstairs. She already knew she was sexless, incapable of arousing a man, so why was she so suddenly and inexplicably experiencing this odd desire to reach out and touch Gray? She had been shocked and embarrassed by his nudity but she had felt something else as well: a purely feminine recognition of the powerful masculinity of him, an intensely female responsiveness to his maleness. But surely that was impossible? She couldn’t experience those sort of feelings. Could she?

Thoroughly confused, she tried to concentrate on preparing their meal, and to direct her thoughts to whatever it was that Gray wanted to discuss with her, but irrationally they kept straying to Gray’s earlier assertion that he wasn’t qualified to judge whether she was frigid or not.

Could Paul have been wrong? She frowned. But surely if he had been she would have known about it before now? In the ten years since his death she had never once experienced the slightest desire for any man. The phone rang, and she went to answer it.

It was Carla, asking for Gray. As she called him to the phone Stephanie was gripped by the most painfully acute sensation of jealousy. Jealousy? But she had no right to be jealous of Carla’s place in Gray’s life. No right at all.

Thoroughly confused, she went back to the kitchen, trying to dismiss her painfully intrusive thoughts.

When he came into the kitchen Gray was frowning heavily. Whatever Carla had had to say to him it couldn’t have been to his liking. Had the blonde perhaps objected to her presence at the cottage, after all? If Gray was her lover … Gray her lover ? Shock ripped through her unprepared body—the body she was so convinced could never respond sexually to any man. What on earth was happening to her?

‘Stephanie … what is it? Are you ill?’

She looked up, her eyes still dark with shock. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. She was looking at Gray and yet it was almost as though she was looking at a stranger.

He reached out for her, warm hands gripping her rigid arms, his face creased in lines of concern.

‘You’re trembling. What is it? What’s wrong?’

Another minute and she would be cradled against the hard warmth of his body … the body that, like the man, belonged to someone else. Immediately she tensed, and Gray let her go.

She felt sick with shock as she realised what she was feeling. She was jealous. Jealous of Carla. No, not of Carla, she amended hastily … she was jealous of their relationship, because it threatened her own friendship with Gray. Yes, that was it …

Shakily she let her mind absorb her thoughts, like a swimmer frightened by the depths, now reaching out for the safety of the shallows where they could touch the ocean floor.

‘I’m all right now, Gray …’

It was obvious that he wasn’t totally convinced. ‘What happened?’

She shrugged carelessly. ‘Oh, nothing. I just felt cold, that’s all.’

It was plain that he didn’t believe her, but fortunately he didn’t press the subject.

‘I’ll fix the trays. Will you check on the casserole?’

Everything was as it had always been, she thought thankfully, obeying his instructions. Or was it? She risked a covert glance at him. She was terrified of losing his friendship … especially to another woman.

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