Gabrielle pressed the off button on the television remote and tossed it on the couch beside her cordless telephone.
Joe hadn't called, either.
Her life was falling apart in Technicolor for the whole world to see. Her business partner, a man she trusted enough to consider a very close friend, was a thief. The news channels hadn't mentioned her name, but anyone who knew her probably assumed she was guilty by association. She and Ronald had briefly discussed her options, such as closing the store and reopening under a new name, but she didn't know if she had the heart to start over again. She'd think about it once the shock wore off and her head cleared.
The telephone on the couch beside her rang, and her stomach tumbled. "Hello," she answered before it had a chance to ring twice.
"I just saw the news," her mother began. "I'm on my way over."
Gabrielle swallowed her disappointment. "No, don't. I'll come over to your house in a while."
"When?"
"Later tonight."
"You shouldn't be alone."
"I'm waiting for Joe," she said, then she wouldn't be alone. After she hung up with her mother, she ran a bath. She added lavender and ylang-ylang and set the phone beside the tub, but when it rang again, it wasn't Joe this time either.
"Did you watch the news?" Francis began.
"I saw it." Gabrielle hid her disappointment for the second time. "Listen, can I phone you back? I'm expecting Joe to call me."
"Why don't you call him?"
Because she didn't have his home number and he wasn't listed in the telephone book. She'd checked-twice. "No, I'm sure he'll call when he gets off work. Until then, he probably won't be able to talk to me about the case." Or about them. About what would happen now.
After Francis hung up, Gabrielle got out of the tub and dressed in a pair of new khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. She left her hair down because she thought he liked it best that way. She didn't even try to tell herself she wasn't waiting by the phone. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be that good a liar. With each tick of the clock, her nerves wound a bit tighter.
At seven-thirty, a handicapped man selling lightbulbs had the misfortune of calling. "No!" she screeched into the receiver. "I've had a really bad day!" She pressed the disconnect button and sank onto the couch, certain she'd just created the worst karma imaginable. What kind of woman yelled at a disabled man?
The kind of woman whose life was in shreds and who should have been more concerned about her business than her love life but wasn't. The kind of woman whose nerves were raw. The kind of woman who knew in her heart and in her soul that if she could just hold on to Joe, everything would be okay.
She didn't even know his telephone number. If she needed to speak to him, she had to call the police station, or leave a message on his pager. She'd made love to him, and he'd touched her heart like no man had ever touched her before. He'd touched her body and stirred a response like nothing she'd ever experienced. It was more than sex. She loved him, but not knowing what he felt for her tied her stomach in knots. The uncertainty drove her crazy and was worse than anything she'd ever felt in her life.
They'd made love, then he'd run out of her house like he couldn't get out fast enough. And yes, she knew he hadn't had a choice. In the rational part of her mind, she knew leaving the way he had hadn't been his decision, but he hadn't kissed her good-bye. He hadn't even looked back.
The doorbell rang, and she jumped. When she looked through the peephole, Joe stared back at her from behind his mirrored sunglasses. Her breath caught in her throat, and a pain settled in her heart as if she'd swallowed air.
"Joe," she said as she swung the door open. Then she was incapable of uttering another word past the emotion clogging her chest. Her hungry gaze took him in all at once, from the top of his dark hair, black T-shirt and jeans, to the tips of his black boots. She slid her gaze back up to his intensely masculine face, with his characteristic five o'clock shadow and the fine lines of his sensual mouth. A sensual mouth he'd pressed to the inside of her thigh less than twelve hours ago.
"Did you see the news?" he asked, and there was something in his voice, something in the way he stood, that set off warning bells in her head. "Have you talked to your lawyer?"
Finally, she found her voice. "Yes. Do you want to come inside?"
"No, that's not a good idea." He took a step backward to the edge of the steps. "But I did want to talk to you about what happened between us this morning."
She knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. "Don't say you're sorry," she warned, because she didn't think her heart could take hearing his regret, as if what they shared together had been a mistake. "Don't tell me that it never should have happened."
"Not saying it doesn't make it right, Gabrielle. What happened was my fault. You were my confidential informant, and there are strict policies and procedures concerning how I treat you. I broke those rules. If you would like to speak with someone in internal affairs, I can give you the name of who to contact."
She looked down at her bare toes, then back up into her reflection in his glasses. He was talking about rules again. She didn't care about rules or policies or speaking to anyone but him. He was talking about what they'd done but not how he felt. He might not love her, but he had to feel the connection between them.
"I was wrong, and I am sorry."
That admission hurt, but she didn't have time to dwell on the pain. If she didn't tell him, he would leave not knowing what was in her heart. If he still left, she wouldn't always wonder whether his knowing would have made a difference. "I'm not sorry. You don't know this about me, but I don't believe in indiscriminate sex. I can hardly expect you to believe that after what happened this morning, but I have to have deep feelings for someone."
His lips formed a straight line, but she'd gone too far to turn back now. "I don't know how this happened," she continued. "Until a few days ago, I didn't even know I liked you very much." With each word she uttered, creases appeared on his forehead. "I've never really fallen in love before. I mean, I thought I was in love several years ago with Fletcher Wiseweaver, but what I felt for him doesn't compare with my feelings for you. I've never felt anything like this."
He took off his sunglasses and massaged his temples and forehead. "You've had a real bad day, and I think you're confused."
Gabrielle looked into his tired eyes, the brown irises like rich, dark chocolate. "Don't treat me like I don't know what I'm feeling. I'm an adult, I don't confuse sex and love. There's only one explanation for what happened today. I'm in love with you."
He dropped his hand, his features turned blank, and an awkward silence filled the air.
"I just told you I'm in love with you. Do you have any reaction to that at all?"
"Yes, but none I think you want to hear."
"Try me."
"There's one more explanation that makes more sense." He rubbed the back of his neck and said, "We had to pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend. Things got real hot, real fast, and we got all wrapped up in it. The lines got blurred and confused and we started to believe it. We took things too far."
"Maybe you're confused, but I'm not." She shook her head. "You're my yang."
"Pardon?"
"You're my yang."
He took a step backward down the stairs of her porch. "Your what?"
"The other half of my soul."
He shoved his glasses back on his face and covered his eyes once more. "I'm not."
"Don't tell me you don't feel the connection between us. You have to feel it."