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

The tours lasted anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour, at the discretion of the guide, with a fifteen-minute break in between each tour. Gemma finished two tours before lunch, then ate with Lillian in the employee break room. It was becoming a habit, chatting away the hour. Lillian seemed to always know what to say, steering clear of talk about family and Gemma’s ex, keeping the conversation light and breezy. The woman was well traveled and well read, with a wicked sense of humor.

Gemma laughed at something that Lillian said and realized with a start that she and Chev were the only people in her life who didn’t know or weren’t somehow connected to Jason.

Then bizarrely, she heard Jason’s name on the television mounted high in a corner of the break room. She glanced up to see a clip showing Jason artfully dodging questions about the prosecution of the statewide drug ring that she’d read about in the papers. He sat behind a grand desk in what appeared to be his new office. His framed law degree hung on the wall behind him, and Gemma wondered idly what he had done with the photo of her that had once sat on his desk, wondered what the view was like from his office window. And was that a new suit? Her chest tightened unexpectedly at the proof that there was now a big chunk of his life that she’d been excluded from.

“He’s handsome in a scholarly sort of way,” Lillian offered, noting Gemma’s sudden interest in the TV.

“Yes, he is,” Gemma murmured. Her tongue watered to say the words that until recently she had been married to the handsome, powerful man. But she was mindful of the need for discretion in revealing her relationship to Jason to anyone she worked with. If word leaked out that she was giving tours for an X-rated exhibit, the press would have a field day … and her “delicious inclinations,” as Lillian had called them, would be exposed.

“Funny,” Lillian said, “but I pegged you for liking a different kind of man.”

“What do you mean?”

Lillian shrugged her slender, toned shoulders. “I don’t know, I just pictured you with someone a little more … free-spirited.”

Gemma didn’t respond, but the image of an exotic, brown-skinned man rose in her mind.

Lillian wadded up the paper wrapper from her sandwich and grinned. “Life is a smorgasbord. See you out there.” She pushed to her feet and walked away.

Gemma finished eating lunch and took a few minutes to freshen up. Two more tours to go before calling it a day. Her step quickened as she neared the meeting place and slid her mask into place. Her body was already smoldering from the morning tours. Beneath the red skirt, she wore a white thong that bit into her skin with the insistence of a lover. Her clit was swollen and sensitive from the constant friction … just the way she liked it. She’d have to take it easy this afternoon or she might lose control and wind up giving the wide-eyed attendees a show they hadn’t bargained for.

She extended a smile to the people already gathered for the first afternoon tour. “Welcome,” she said warmly.

“We’ve been looking forward to this all week,” a woman said, gesturing to a man next to her that Gemma assumed to be the woman’s husband. “Our marriage counselor suggested that we come.”

“That’s nice,” Gemma said. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’m having fun already,” a guy standing nearby said, eyeing her bare legs. Everyone laughed, Gemma included, identifying the resident flirt of the group. There was always one guy who thought he could tease his way to getting Gemma’s number at the end of the tour. What he didn’t realize was that Gemma’s “watch and learn” mantra extended to more than just the tour.

The area filled with more people, all slightly damp from the rain still falling outside. Warm, moist bodies, producing pungent odors, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation. Gemma silently counted heads, then squinted. The man in the back dressed in dark slacks and short-sleeve formfitting white shirt looked like … wait a minute—it couldn’t be.

Chev?

He gave her a little nod of acknowledgment, then his gaze flicked over her costume. He must have abandoned his work site for the day due to the rain. A bolt of pure sexual electricity lit up her body at the realization that he would be watching her on the tour … and watching other people watch her. Pleasure coursed through her, but she was suddenly nervous, smoothing her hair behind her ear and fidgeting with her hands. Her thong suddenly seemed even more invasive.

After a deep breath to calm her nerves, she asked for the group’s attention and announced they were about to begin. “A reminder that no pictures are allowed for this exhibit. Please keep your cameras stowed at all times.”

As she scanned the faces in the crowd, she stopped abruptly. Lewis Wilcox—the reporter who had tried to thwart Jason’s election and who had left her voice messages since the divorce. Alarm washed over her. Did he somehow know her identity? At the moment he was staring at her legs. She held her breath, but when his gaze reached her face, he gave the mask no more than a cursory glance. She relaxed a little, conceding it was just bad luck that he would be the reporter the TV station would send to check out the tour and that he’d wound up in her group. At least she had the mask to protect her identity. She was grateful she’d never talked to the man on the phone, so there was no way he’d recognize her voice.

Chev was frowning at her and mouthed Are you okay? She nodded and gave him a singular smile, grateful for his concern, even if he didn’t know the source. She started the tour and, within a couple of minutes, became immersed in her lecture. She tried not to seek out Chev’s face, but she couldn’t help it. If the man cut a sexy figure in his faded work clothes, he was devastating in dress clothes. Not surprisingly, he was garnering a few looks of his own from women in the group, but he seemed unaware. He seemed, she realized happily, to have eyes only for her.

CHEV HADN’T BEEN SURE what to expect, wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get in Gemma’s group. In fact, he’d first landed in a group led by a petite, curvy woman with a pink streak in her black hair. When she’d noticed him craning, hoping for a glimpse of Gemma, the woman had quietly asked him if he was looking for another guide. When he’d nodded, she had covertly pointed him through another door where he found Gemma corralling a crowd of about twenty-five people.

The sight of her in the sexy red-and-white getup made his mouth water and his cock twitch. Her legs were long and bare and tanned. And that black mask of hers made him feel … proprietary. It was as if they shared a secret over the heads of the other people standing between her and him.

As she welcomed the group and gave them a brief overview of the exhibit, his chest warmed with admiration. She was engaging, her voice low and husky. A natural performer, and these people hadn’t even seen her best show.

She led the group into the first area that housed nude photography that dated practically as far back as the time when photography was first invented. She moved like a cat, her limbs lithe and limber, her curves straining against the confines of the snug red skirt and white bustier. He stayed in the back of the crowd, felt the temperature of the group’s collective libido rise as she explained the risks taken by the models and the photographers to capture the provocative images.

His own fire was stoked higher, not by the pictures of the white-thighed women in the photos who hid their faces from the camera, but by the heightened color in Gemma’s cheeks as she caught his eye. Her mouth curved into the most sexy smile, setting off the beauty mark near the corner of her mouth.