Jeanie London - Real Men - Rugged Rebels - Watch and Learn / Under His Skin / Her Perfect Hero

By the time she pulled onto her street, both the sun and her mood were on the downslide. Chev’s property was crowded with vehicles and equipment and workers, most of whom were loading up to leave. She saw him standing shoulders above them, looking like some kind of primitive chief in his bandanna, his torso bare and brown. He turned his head as she drove past and his dark gaze pierced her to the core, suffusing her chest with pleasure as she wheeled into her driveway.

But at the sight of the peacock in her yard, uprooting her newly replanted flowers, those warm, fuzzy feelings were obliterated, and high voltage anger whipped through her.

FROM HIS YARD, Chev saw the peacock and cringed. Considering the way Gemma had slammed her car into Park and come charging out, he wouldn’t be surprised if she were about to wring the poor thing’s neck.

The bird veered away, emitting its high-pitched mewling noise. Gemma chased it around the yard, windmilling her arms and stomping her feet. In her voluminous black coat, she looked ridiculous, but the peacock must have found her menacing. The bird lunged, flapping its wings and careening wildly to stay a few feet ahead of her.

The men standing around him laughed and made circular motions with their fingers indicating that Gemma was loco. Chev smiled and waved them on their way, then stood for a few minutes watching Gemma chase the squawking bird around her yard, laughing to himself.

It was therapeutic, he reasoned, for her to lash out at the bird. The woman had had her life torn apart and was clearly struggling to put the pieces back together. He couldn’t blame her for snapping over a few unearthed flowers. The colorful animal was a handy target for her pent-up frustrations.

For the bird’s sake, he decided to intervene.

As he walked up behind Gemma, she stopped and leaned over to grasp her knees. She narrowed her eyes at the cock, which had also stopped running and was eyeing her intently. “I wonder how you’d look on a platter,” she muttered.

“The meat is supposed to be an aphrodisiac,” Chev offered.

She turned and straightened, looking adorably sheepish, her cheeks pink from the exertion.

“Not that I can say firsthand,” he added. “Peacocks are protected in most parts of the world, but some cultures still consider the meat a delicacy.”

She glared at the bird. “We’d have to catch him first.”

As if the bird had heard her, he extended his wings and flew up into a nearby tree, then called down to them in triumph.

“I guess that’s the reason they’ve been around for centuries,” Chev said.

She stamped her foot clad in a chunky black high heel, then groaned when she realized what she’d stepped in.

Chev bent over laughing, then wiped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry.”

“I called animal control,” she said, indignant, “but they said they didn’t have a place to take the bird even if they could capture it. They told me not to feed it, and if it hasn’t left in two or three weeks, they would give me the name of a preserve to contact. They said that I was encroaching on the peacock’s habitat.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true. We all are.”

“But why did it pick my yard?”

He grinned. “I guess he just liked the look of your grass.”

Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. “Do you think he’ll ever leave?”

“Eventually his instincts to mate will drive him to move on if he doesn’t find what he’s looking for.”

The humidity in the air between them suddenly became sticky with mutual desire. His sex grew heavy as he imagined what lay beneath the belted raincoat. Considering the black mesh panty hose and high heels, he was sure it was something pretty damn fantastic. Her pale hair was tousled from the impromptu activity. Her mouth and eyes softened and her gaze traveled over his bare shoulders and arms. His chest expanded as he inhaled sharply. She wanted him … but enough to let him near her? He watched while she visibly struggled with her physical response to him. She looked away, and when she looked back, she had regained her composure.

“How’s the house coming along?” she asked in a breezy tone.

Chev exhaled. “We made a lot of progress today. I wanted to show you a couple of things if you have time.”

She glanced at her own house and he wondered if something had happened today to make her even more skittish of him.

Then she turned back to him and smiled. “Sure. I’m going to let this mess go for now.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Chev conceded. “Let it ride. You can clean up the yard once he’s gone for good.”

He said the words lightly, but as soon as they left his mouth he realized that Gemma might be drawing comparisons between him and the pesky peacock.

One delicate eyebrow arched, but otherwise Gemma didn’t reveal what was going through that pretty head of hers. “Let me put the car in the garage.”

Chev knew he should have offered to let her change clothes first, but honestly, he wanted to keep imagining what she was wearing under the coat. And he was hoping that when she undressed, she’d do it for him.

He bit back a smile as she dodged more bird deposits and sacrificial plants on her way back to the driveway. He glanced up at the peacock staring down from a tree branch and wondered if either one of them would have any luck finding female companionship at 131 Petal Lagoon Drive.

Not if Gemma’s subconscious actions were any indication, he noted. Instead of pulling into the middle of the two-car garage, she carefully maneuvered into the rightmost space, leaving room for a phantom car. He wondered if she even realized she was still holding a place in her life for her ex’s return.

They walked companionably to his house and she murmured appreciation at the obvious changes—the terra-cotta tiled walkway was newly restored and glistening with sealer. The arched entryway was repaired with the new columns in place and freshly painted. He stopped at an outside spigot to wash his gritty hands and face, then grabbed his work shirt from the handle of a wheelbarrow and shrugged into it, leaving it unbuttoned. He felt Gemma’s gaze upon him and welcomed it. If he could affect her senses a fraction of the amount that she affected his, maybe she’d invite him into her bed instead of relegating him to the role of spectator at her erotic shows.

Especially since even her performances had ceased.

Inside, he helped her pick her way across plastic-covered floors. The tile work and wood planks underfoot would be one of the last installations, lest they be marred by machinery and heavy boots. The newly applied plaster on the ceiling in the foyer emanated a pungent but satisfying aroma. At Gemma’s urging, Chev had sought out a metal salvage yard and purchased enough sections of wrought-iron railing to replace the crumbling wooden banisters.

“Gorgeous,” she breathed.

“I couldn’t be happier with the way it turned out,” he admitted. “I’m going to replace the wood window shutters with iron detail, too.”

At the mention of windows, he thought he detected a stiffening of her shoulders, but she didn’t say anything. In the great room, Chev was pleased to see Gemma’s face light up at the newly tiled fireplace.

“It’s stunning.”

“Thanks to you. I wouldn’t have chosen these colors or design without your encouragement.”

“I’m glad to help,” she murmured, and he thought he detected a wistful note in her voice.

“You’re good at this,” he observed. “Have you considered consulting for a living?”

“Maybe someday,” she said, nodding. “I hope I can put my degree to use for something more than being a tour guide.”

“How’s that going?”