now she was retreating. She asked, “So nothing from Gilead last night?” Breezily, as if it didn’t matter.
Oh, bugger. I didn’t want to go there.
Could I have the sexy foot chat back, please?
34
Not Quite a She-Devil
Daisy
Why had I done that? It was so much too forward. It was so far ahead of where I was ready to go.
It wasn’t really because he’d kissed me, or it wasn’t just that. That had been the sort of “hello, you” kiss that a friend might give you. If a friend kissed on the mouth. And had arms that could hold you that well. It wasn’t like he’d been lifting me off my feet or anything, though.
It had been my absolutely decadent pedicure, that was what. The luxury that was a woman who worked on her feet getting those feet soaked and scrubbed and massaged into submission, and then the rose gold nails with their tiny golden stripe that made me feel like the kind of woman I most definitely wasn’t. The waxing, too, though all I’d had done today was my eyebrows and calves. Thinking about the waxing I’d get done next time, maybe. And then the spa, with its calming gray-blue walls and white-draped bed, and the soothing waves-and-whale-calls music. Normally, that music put me to sleep. Today, it had been more like a daydream. One involving a muscular, tattooed Samoan wearing a pair of faded jeans, his big feet bare, his hands on my hips, standing in a dark room with a shadowy white bed in the corner while the wind sighed in the trees and disturbed the filmy curtains.
I hadn’t gone much further than that. My daydreams were still of the kind beloved of fifteen-year-olds everywhere, full of hot gazes from sleepy brown eyes, the quirk of a male mouth, the touch of his hand on my face, his thumb brushing back my hair as his lips came down over mine. I hadn’t managed to get rid of my clothes, or to do more than get my hands under his T-shirt, even in my fantasies.
When I’d put my foot on Gray’s thigh to show him my pedicure, though, he’d put his hand around my ankle like he knew exactly what I was doing. I’d got the hot gaze and the quirk of the mouth and the touch of the hand. I hadn’t taken off a thing and neither had he, but I was tingling. I shifted in my chair, and he watched me do it. And I got the hot gaze again.
Oh, bloody hell. I was so out of my league.
All of this was a good thing, though. I needed to get past my issues, and I was pretty sure he’d be willing to help me do it. Here we were, living next door to each other. All I needed was courage. And patience from him. Heaps of patience. Oceans of patience.
Was there that much patience in the world?
I took another bite of pasta, then asked again, in as casual a tone as I could manage, “I won’t find any threatening text messages on my phone, then?” I wasn’t going to worry about scaring the girls. The girls were already scared. They needed to know the truth. Knowing gave you power, and they’d had enough of being powerless. I’d change my number tonight, and they could watch me do it and know that Gilead and Mount Zion were behind us yet again.
Gray said, “No.” He hesitated, and I put down my fork and said, “What?”
“He rang,” he said. Reluctantly, I could tell. “At eight this morning.”
The girls’ heads went up, and nobody was eating. I said, “The tracking chip, and then a call? He’s got to have a secret phone.”
“There are really no phones there?” Gray asked.
“No. Well, landlines. The Prophet has a mobile. Uncle Aaron does, too. But that’s all.”
I was stalling. Gray knew I was stalling, because he didn’t say anything, just waited. I asked, “What did he say?”
Gray said, “You have to realize that I didn’t say anything when I picked up. I just hit the button and waited. I wanted to hear what he’d say if he thought he was talking to you. First thing he said was, ‘Chastity.’”
I tried not to shiver.
Gray said, “Are you sure you want to know?”
I looked at Fruitful—Frankie. She nodded, and I said, “Yes. We all need to know.”
“Right, then.” Gray pulled a little notebook with a stubby pencil stuck through the spiral from his back pocket and flipped the