Summer Attractions Page 6

  “I think we can make it work out okay,” he continued.

  “I guess—” she hardly sounded convinced, “—maybe I should look at it as you going with me instead of following me.”

  “I promise never to walk more than half a step behind you,” he said, and she giggled then, her nose scrunching up. She was cute and hot, and he was totally fucked if Nick found out about what was happening here. But she definitely seemed more apt to acquiesce to his protection if they had some sort of . . . Gabe hesitated because he hated to give it a name, especially that name, but nothing else seemed appropriate . . . vacation fling.

  “Sold,” she said. “But one more condition.”

  He was about ninety percent sure she was going to say more sex. There was a ten percent chance he was going to be disappointed, but his cock began to pay more attention to the conversation.

  “You stop being all cold and withdrawn,” she said, completely surprising him yet again. “I’m not something to be managed. This isn’t a series of events that you have to control. We’re going to go to some tourist traps, watch some sports, I’ll probably drink a lot more of those drinks, maybe learn to samba a little, and we’ll have a good time. Deal?”

  It definitely sounded like a vacation fling. Gabe hesitated. He told himself that it wasn’t really a lie. He was definitely attracted to her. He enjoyed her company. It wouldn’t be a hardship to let himself enjoy the next three weeks, even if he provided her some protection along the way. And she would be safe, he told himself, and that’s more important than anything else.

  “Deal,” he said, reaching out and twisting their fingers together in what he’d intended to be a handshake, but instead felt like a lover’s caress.

  And if she smiled more brightly and her cheeks turned this delightful shade of pink, then so be it. All that meant was that she understood what he was offering, even if he didn’t quite understand it himself.

  It took him about five minutes to get dressed. It took Jemma a good bit longer, but Gabe didn’t really mind because he could watch her in the bathroom mirror as she fussed with her hair, and then in front of the closet as she vacillated between tops. He considered telling her that it was just the Olympic Festival at Copacabana Beach, but she took the selection so seriously that he kept quiet.

  When they’d finally left the room and were on their way out of the hotel, he asked what their plan for the evening was.

  “It’s the Opening Ceremonies tonight,” she said, shooting him a mystified look like she couldn’t believe he didn’t already know that. Like she expected him to have memorized the schedule—and that department had definitely been Nick’s. Gabe felt that all-too-familiar clawing panic when he thought of his friend in a hospital in LA and pushed it away.

  “Do we have tickets to that?” he asked mostly to distract himself.

  “I wish!” Jemma exclaimed. “But they’re so hard to get, even for members of the press. I guess we can watch it at the Festival. They’ll have coverage of it on these big screens set up around the beach.”

  “We’re going to go watch the Opening Ceremonies on a television?” Gabe asked in disbelief.

  Jemma shot him a hot glare, and gave him a playful shove off the curb as they went to cross the street toward the beach. “As my invited guest,” she said, “I’m going to take major offense to any time you diss or make fun of or are otherwise not properly appreciative of the events I take you to.”

  He grinned. “Guess you’re going to be taking offense a lot.”

  A laugh bubbled up her throat and she grinned helplessly back. “Guess I am.” She hesitated. “Still, I think it will be pretty cool to watch the Opening Ceremonies on Copacabana Beach, when last week I was sure I’d be watching it on my couch in LA.”

  “Pretty cool,” he said.

  “What would be even cooler is if I could figure out what to write about,” she admitted.

  “I mean, don’t you just write about the events? Like so and so got a gold medal in underwater basket weaving? I think that would be pretty easy.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. Nick is your friend,” she said primly as they reached an intersection and paused to wait for the red light to turn green.

  “I know Nick’s a reporter,” Gabe said patiently. Which was about the extent of what he did know.

  “Nick’s not a reporter, not in the technical sense of the term,” Jemma explained. “Five Points isn’t like ESPN. We don’t just report the scores and the highlights. We focus on the human interest angle.”

  “So if the winner of underwater basket weaving volunteers at a local charity and teaches underprivileged kids how to underwater basket weave?”

  “Kinda. Or, like the winner of underwater basket weaving is from a place where underwater basket weaving is super tough. Like the Sahara desert.”

  “Or Alaska?” Gabriel couldn’t help but ask. He was pretty sure she and Colin weren’t involved, but it was hard to resist teasing her because of the way her eyes lit up every time he did it.

  “Or Alaska,” she admitted then paused, glowering. “I don’t want to talk about Colin. I told you I wasn’t going to say another word.”

  Gabriel shrugged. “You said you weren’t going to. I didn’t ever agree.”

  “One day,” she threatened darkly as they turned down the last street to the Olympic Gathering spot at Copacabana.

  “One day,” he said confidently as they passed where they’d danced the night before and headed further down the beach to where the Festival was held, “you’re gonna tell me about Colin. And you’re going to want to.”

  He did hope she would someday. He was curious, a detective’s curiosity, mainly. And he also had a hunch and he liked being right about his hunches.

  They rounded a curve in the boardwalk and all of a sudden, Guanabara Bay spread out in front of them, sparkling blue in the sunlight. Jemma leaned over the edge of the railing and murmured, “It’s beautiful.”

  “You couldn’t pay me to get in that water,” he said.

  “I heard they had some pollution issues,” she said hesitantly. The crowds, already significant since they’d left the hotel, grew thicker around them. He downshifted from merely walking next to her to actively monitoring the situation.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to write some sort of exposé on the Bay? It’s not exactly a state secret. They’ve been trying to clean it up for years. Personally,” Gabe said, “I’m not willing to put my health on the line to find out how successful they’ve been.”

  “It’s so beautiful, though,” Jemma said wistfully, gazing out across the water. It certainly seemed pristine, a sapphire set in the heart of Rio. Seeing it again was not only a reminder of what his family had lost, it also reminded Gabe of his mother and how much he wished he could see her again. How much he wished she could have seen Rio again.

  But none of that meant that he was willing to risk life and limb to climb into that water.

  He glanced over at Jemma, who still seemed entranced by the glittering bay. Apparently even stories didn’t deter her. The afternoon sun shone on her face and lit up her features. It didn’t even feel like a lie to tell her, “I’d much rather admire it from here.”

  Jemma didn’t say anything but Gabe was pretty sure he saw her flush as they continued down the boardwalk toward the Festival.

  Getting in was easy. Jemma just had to flash her press pass and as she’d shoved her phone and ID into her pocket, they didn’t have to stop for any security checks. But once they were inside, it was clear how crowded it was, and how much more crowded it would likely get.

  Gabe wasn’t the biggest fan of crowds, but he told himself that this wasn’t about him. He was here as a friend and as protection. And if he stood a little bit closer to her, felt a little bit calmer if she was nearer, that didn’t mean anything at all. He was just doing his job.

  Jemma couldn’t wait to dive into the Festival. There were tents set up all over the beach, selling Olympi
cs merchandise and Brazilian goods; food trucks with delicious smells wafting out of their windows; sponsor booths promising everything from meeting Olympic athletes to trying your own hand at an Olympic sport.

  “Keen to try?” Jemma pointed with a giggle, indicating the tent that had all sorts of rhythmic gymnastic apparatus to try—from the hoop to the ball to a floating gold ribbon.

  His default expression flickered for a second, but he still gave her a nod which surprised her to no end.

  He must have seen the astonishment on her face as they headed over to the booth. “Figure I might as well try it before I knock it,” he explained, a sudden smile lighting up his face and revealing that he was actually enjoying this more than he let on.

  It turned out that he’d taken some juggling lessons in school, because he was extremely adept with the long, slender clubs, tossing them up in the air with an effortless grace and catching them just as easily. Jemma, on the other hand, struggled with the long sparkling ribbon, proceeding to tangle it all around her body as she tried to toss it and twirl it as the video displayed on a flat screen TV demonstrated.

  She was hopelessly lost when he glanced over and laughed, holding three of the clubs in one big, capable hand and making her stomach heat. “Let’s get you untangled,” he said with amusement. “Just turn for me, darling.”

  She turned and he unwound the ribbon from her hair, plucking it carefully from her curls, not tugging or jerking them once. His deft fingers skimmed across her body and made quick work of the ribbon, finally depositing it on the table next to her. “All free now,” he said and she turned to face him, her heart racing in her chest as she realized how close he’d come to her. She fit just under his chin, her shorter, curvier body a perfect complement for his long, muscular leanness.

  “Thank you,” she said, not even the tiniest bit embarrassed over how breathless she sounded. After all, they’d had sex twice already. He already knew she wanted him. It wasn’t exactly a big secret.

  They stayed for another half an hour, and Gabe earned all sorts of brownie points for standing quietly in the corner of the tent as Jemma tried out the rest of the apparatuses, and then proceeded to quiz the sport ambassadors who were manning the booth.

  “Find something to write about?” he asked as they left the tent in search of something to drink after Jemma had complained about how tough juggling was and how hot it had made her. “If you didn’t spend nine tenths of your time running after the bowling pins,” Gabe had teased.

  “It wasn’t hard at all!” she marveled.

  He did a double take as they headed toward a lemonade stand. “No, I mean, rhythmic gymnastics is impossible,” Jemma said. “But finding a story didn’t turn out to be very tough.”

  “There’s a lot of material here,” Gabe observed as he handed over some bills to the attendant, who then handed them two tall frosty cups of frozen lemonade.

  Jemma saw an couple vacating a nearby bench, and claimed it with a triumphant smile. Gabe joined her a second later.

  They sat for a few minutes in silence, watching and listening as the festival bustled around them. There were so many different cultures and countries represented, with a smorgasbord of languages buzzing in the crowd. “I wish Nick had told me what he was going to write about,” Jemma admitted.

  “Why?”

  “It would make all this a lot easier,” Jemma said. “Also, I’d already know that Duncan approved.”

  He turned to her, a serious expression on his handsome face. “Did or did they not hire you with the idea that you would eventually write?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Of course they did. They thought the article you wrote on Colin was good. Good enough that they knew you could do this job without Nick.”

  “You seem so certain,” Jemma said. She wasn’t used to feeling so out of her depth. She certainly wasn’t used to questioning her own abilities. She’d always been confident in her ability to find a great story and write it well. Spending a year under Nick hadn’t been good for her. She’d gotten rusty and a little afraid of her own shadow.

  “You should be too,” Gabe pointed out.

  Jemma sucked down the rest of her lemonade, risking the cold headache behind her eyes so she could avoid responding to his statement.

  “Where to next?” he asked as they finished their drinks.

  “Swimming,” Jemma said decidedly. She wasn’t going to write about Kimber—not unless specifically requested to, anyway—but Jemma already wanted to hear more about the new star.

  There was no practical demonstration at that tent, for which Jemma was grateful. The video playing had interviews with several of the members of the team, and though she was expecting to see Kimber, it still gave her a start to see the girl appear on the screen. She put on a brave front for the interview, talking confidently about her races and her chances. But Jemma had already learned to see the vulnerability hiding in her soft hazel eyes.

  They stayed for the rest of the interviews then left, wandering from one tent to the next. They threw basketballs and played t-ball and even tried a virtual demonstration of what it felt like be racing across the water in one of the competitive skiffs.

  Gabe was a model of patience and seemed genuinely interested in most of what they did and saw. He also proved, to Jemma’s annoyance, to be as naturally athletic as she’d suspected. Maybe not quite as naturally athletic as Colin, but then Gabe wasn’t a Heisman-winning quarterback or the first pick in the NFL draft. Jemma was used to being the clumsy, uncoordinated one.

  When Gabriel snagged a commemorative plastic frisbee from a table at the beach volleyball station and suggested they go find a more uncrowded spot on the beach to throw it around, she eyed him dubiously.

  “You have noticed that I’m not exactly spectacular at sports, right?” she asked hesitantly as they walked toward a more secluded spot Gabe had found.

  “I’m not blind,” he pointed out. “But it’s okay. Not everyone has to be good at everything. And you don’t have to be good at something to enjoy it.”

  It was the complete opposite of what Colin might have said. He had a determination to excel that could be exhausting at times.

  “Well as long as you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Jemma stripped off her sandals and pulling her hair back into a ponytail, struggling a bit with the newfound curliness of her hair. There was no doubt about it, she missed her straightener a lot.

  He gave her a smile. “Eyes wide open, babe.”

  Jemma tried to ignore how her insides were currently dancing the merengue at his new adopted pet names for her—first darling and now babe. She especially ignored the pulse of guilt she felt when she remembered telling Colin as kindly as she could that she wished he would stick to her first name and leave the pet names behind.

  At the time it had seemed like such a good idea—a way to slowly begin preparing her, but mostly him, for separate lives on opposite sides of the country. Now she just remembered how sad and resigned his eyes had become and how he’d cut their study evening short.

  “Are you okay?” Gabe asked, jerking Jemma back to the present.

  She wasn’t. Not really. She’d believed that moving on would be something she’d look forward to, something to be savored and enjoyed, and god, it was. Especially when it was with a man like Gabe, who set her on fire just by glancing in her direction. She’d thought she could close off the guilt a lot more easily, but she couldn’t. Not even if Colin never had to know about Gabriel Rocha.

  “Let’s play,” she said instead, because pretty much the last person she ever intended to discuss Colin with was standing in front of her looking impatient.

  He let it go, jogging backwards on the beach, his limbs lithe and graceful.

  She probably would have embarrassed herself a hell of a lot more, but the wind had picked up on the beach, often blowing even Gabe’s well-aimed tosses of the frisbee off course.

  She bit her smile back as he went diving for a partic
ularly badly aimed lob of hers, but couldn’t help her laugh when he emerged triumphantly from the sand with the frisbee in hand. He was charming even when he wasn’t trying; Jemma chalked it up to her own inability to stay immune.

  The sun was setting over the Bay when they finally called it quits, sandy and panting for breath.

  “What was the score?” Jemma asked archly as she leaned down to slip her feet back into her sandals.

  “Ten thousand to zero,” he teased.

  “Oh, I wasn’t that terrible,” she insisted.

  “No, you weren’t,” he said and when she glanced over at him, she saw how serious his expression was.

  It just about matched how seriously compromised her heart was becoming.

  “I had fun,” she said, lightly as she could, as they walked back to the boardwalk.

  “That was the idea.”

  “I didn’t know policemen had fun,” she teased.

  “This policeman doesn’t, usually,” he admitted as they headed back to the main Festival area. “Should we get some dinner before the Opening Ceremonies start?” He gestured to where they had a giant countdown set up on one of the televisions they’d set up. They had about forty minutes until the ceremonies began.

  They walked past the colorfully painted food trucks with the entrancing scents, and after discussion, they decided on the esfihas, a sort of Brazilian-inspired pizza topped with a shredded beef that smelled so good Jemma’s mouth watered.

  They carried the esfihas piping hot on thin paper to the main viewing area, where a man was renting low beach chairs. Passing her esfihas to Gabe, Jemma dug in her pocket and pulled out some reals. With a fond shake of his head, Gabe managed to transfer all their dinner to one hand and pluck a single bill from her outstretched hand and give to the smiling man.

  She shot Gabe a look and picked up their chairs, and after they found an occupied spot with a good view of the giant screens, set them up.