Purely Relative (13 page)

As I ran, however, Reason crept in and had to have her say:

Assuming he really loves you like he says he does. If he
really loved you, he would have discussed his move with you before it was a
done deal. He takes you for granted. He didn’t even wave goodbye, yet he
managed to nail you in the bedroom every chance he got. Share how that makes
you feel, foolish Heart!

My Heart parried:

It feels terrible, as you well know, Reason. And if
you’re implying he’s only been after Sex, you’re dead wrong. I may have doubts
about other aspects of our relationship, but that has never been one of them.

Oh yeah? Then why are we even talking about Sex?

Because Sex always has to stick her nose in conversations
concerning Jon, but I don’t need you messing with her, too. Run along, Sex, you
aren’t needed in this debate right now. You’ll only get hurt if you hang
around.

Heart, someone has to tell you when you’re running amok.

I paused and drew in a deep, cleansing breath. I ordered the
warring trio of voices in my head to wrap it up and give their best closing
arguments.

Reason, I’m really hurting here. Could you for once play
on my side and work with me?

Well, dearest Heart, you do hate it here and it’s not
like you have that many friends. Even Jenny, who might have been your friend,
is moving away. There are probably just as many jobs in DC or the neighboring
areas of Virginia or Maryland as in Dallas. You’d be closer to your twin,
Gordon, at Harvard. Poor guy’s never had enough money to fly home and has
always been alone during the holidays. And Jon’s reticence? Remember he left a
job he loved to move to Dallas for Thalia and when that
began to fall
apart, he put in for a transfer back to DC. He put in for his transfer before
you began a relationship, right? Right?

It was! It was! Thank you, Reason!

So I’ll get to play with Jon every night?

Simmer down, Sex girl. It’ll only be until I get my own
place after I find a job.

Uh-huh. Sure.

Heart and Sex ganged up on Reason and the bickering resumed
until I shushed them and told them they were getting way ahead of themselves.

I picked up the pace again, nearly breaking into a run to
reach the American Airlines counter. There I pleaded my case to the ticket
agent to please allow me cuts and please, please sell me a ticket on the DC
flight leaving in less than an hour. I had no bags, but I had a credit card and
a driver’s license. I wouldn’t have a car much longer either. I didn’t care
about that. I also didn’t care that I just spent five hundred dollars I didn’t
have, though Reason shook her tiny fist and promised to work me over later.

My ticket in hand and less than a half hour until takeoff, I
knew they’d be boarding before I got to the gate. So long as they didn’t shut
the door, I’d be fine.

Security was agonizingly slow, further complicated by the
full-body pat-down and scan they gave me. I guess they’d flagged me in the
system for extra checks given the impromptu nature of my flight. My life and
hopes began chanting, “hurry, hurry, hurry!”

I ran through the terminal to the train. Of course the
flight I needed was in the adjoining terminal. Time ticked by, mocking my
impulsive folly, trying to corral Reason into agreeing that I’d be sorry for
being so foolish. I shushed it, shifting from foot to foot as I gripped the
pole in the train with white knuckles. When the train stopped and let me
off—after I pushed my way through the people taking their freaking sweet
time gathering their bags but blocking the exit—I sprinted again.

I wanted Gate thirty-five. Gate twenty was the first I saw.
Fifteen more. I ran.

Ten more. I ran harder.

Five more. Thank goodness I still had some extra red blood
cells from having lived at high altitude for most of my life. Most of New Mexico
was over a mile in elevation, higher than Denver. I needed all the stamina I
could tap to keep pumping my legs as fast as they would go. Adrenaline provided
some extra oomph as well, though I think Sex and Heart had cut some sort of
deal with my other internal organs.

And finally, there it was, Gate thirty-five. The passengers
had begun congregating near the jetway door as they called the first class and
business elite passengers. I searched for Jon but didn’t see him. Had he
already boarded?

Moving into the crowds, I ran up and down between the seats,
jumping over carry-on bags littering the walkways. No Jon. Where the hell was
he?

What if he wasn’t on this flight after all? What if he
changed his mind or changed his flight? Visions of landing in DC with no one
there for me threatened to unleash a torrent of tears.

My cell phone rang. Like I had time for a phone call at that
moment. But on the off-chance it was Jon, I pulled it out and read the display.

“Jon?” My breath came in short pants and drops of sweat fell
from my forehead.

“I love you,” he said. “No matter what. I love you. I’ll
wait as long as it takes for you to come to me. And if you can’t come, I’ll
quit and return to you. I don’t care. I didn’t tell you before in your car. I’m
sorry. I was too upset.” He caught his breath, the tiniest of hitches audible.

“Where are you?” I searched the gate area until finally I
found him, standing in a pay phone cubicle, his cell phone pressed to his ear.
He faced away from me. No wonder I hadn’t seen him.

“I’m in the gate waiting for them to call my row. Did I wake
you? Did you go back to bed?”

“No, you didn’t wake me. I’m not at home.” I was nearly on
him. “I’m right behind you.”

He spun, his cell still at his ear. “Gayle!”

I spoke into the phone and to him, all fears of losing my
independence and self-worth vanquished. The last of my barriers crumbled with
the realization I’d already given the best parts of me to Jon. If I let him go,
I might lose them and him forever. “I love you, too. Marry me, Jon! Please
marry me!”

He dropped his phone into his pocket and jerked me into his
arms for the mother, grandmother, and godmother of all kisses.

We pulled apart and he shook his head laughing. “I have to
get on my plane now.”

I nodded. “I know. Me too.” I waved my boarding pass in
front of his face.

“Oh my God, are you kidding me?” Another whirlwind round of
kissing followed by him picking me up and spinning me around in a circle.

“I never left the airport. I snapped and had some sort of
crazy meltdown after I watched you leave. A little impulsive I know, but—”

“Come on, you can tell me on the airplane.” He snatched my
boarding pass from my hand and read the seat number. His face fell. “Oh, this
is too bad.”

“What?” Panic stabbed at me. “What’s too bad?”

“You have a center seat and it’s a long flight to DC.”

“I don’t care. As long as you’re there for me when we land.”

“I hope you don’t mind sharing an armrest.” He turned both
boarding passes to face me. “You’re in the seat next to me.”

Laughing, we boarded the airplane and took our assigned
seats in the very back of the plane. Holding hands, we took off for DC. When
the man in the window seat next to me finally fell asleep, I leaned over,
placed my hand on Jon’s shoulder and whispered, “You never answered my
question.”

Jon’s brow furrowed as he leaned closer to whisper back, “What
question was that?”

“How quickly they forget. I asked you to marry me!”

He glanced down at me, a sly twist to his lips. “Where’s the
ring?”

“You want a ring?”

“I think it’s only fair, don’t you?” His grin grew.

So did mine. “Would you accept a membership in the mile high
club as an IOU?”

He leaned back against his seat, eyes closed, but the smile
still in place. I kept watching him for some sort of answer. When he refused to
open his eyes, I gave him a mock punch in the arm. “What?” he exclaimed,
rubbing his arm.

“Well?”

“Ask me again thirteen more times and I’ll tell you.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” And over the next hour, until the
beverage service had concluded and all had grown quiet on the plane, I asked
Jon Cripps to marry me. After my fourteenth request, he finally gave me his
answer.

The End.

So many people to thank in helping
me bring this book to market, but first and foremost my thanks go to all the
readers who enjoyed Gayle and Jon enough to ask for more. I had never thought
I'd write a sequel, had only intended it as a one off, but 'never say never' is
my new motto. Thank you for asking and I hope it met or exceeded your
expectations. There could be another in the future, perhaps Jon and Gayle
running off to Vegas? We'll see.

Thank you to my family for giving me peace and quiet to work
on this and so many other projects. Your loving support is the foundation for
all that I do and without it, I would not have even tried.

Huge thanks to all my beta readers: Julie Reece, Aimee
Laine, Heather Osborn (for an awesome chapter one critique), and my most tenacious
beta, Silverbirch aka Katy. To those who helped me launch this book with cover
reveals, book trailer reveals and just some old fashioned cheerleading and pep
talks: Sandra Bunino (my sista from another mista), Julie Reece, and all the
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pens ladies. Such a talented crowd I run with.

Thanks to the Ya-Ya's, my fitness buddies for over a decade,
especially Melanie who was a vocal fan.

My Arthur Andersen & Co. friends and colleagues all
deserve a big hug. I loved all the pleas for me to rat out certain characters
and situations in
The P.U.R.E.
as they tried to figure out what real
life co-workers were depicted. (None...not in whole anyway.) I'd be lying,
however, if I claimed all of Gayle's foot-in-mouth issues and bumbles to be fictitious.
I have only myself to blame for a few of those.

Lastly, I'd like to thank the bloggers and Goodreads
reviewers who didn't know me or my work from Adam but who took a chance on an
unknown and gave
The P.U.R.E.
a nice boost.

CLAIRE GILLIAN is the pen name for a
number-crunching executive by day and a darkly romantic curmudgeon by night.
She writes smart, witty stories for smart, witty people. Her debut novel,
The
P.U.R.E.
was released in April 2012. Since then she has released short
stories in
Tidal Whispers
and
Conquest Through Determination
anthologies.

She also writes fifty shades naughtier stuff under the pen
name of Lila Shaw, but please don’t tell her mother. No matter which name she
uses, Claire is happiest penning romance drenched in humor with a dash of
intrigue and loads of spice.

Claire lives in the boggy Pacific NW with her husband and
two teen-aged sons.

Claire loves to hear from her readers at:
[email protected]. For more news and writerly knick-knacks (including a
free story every now and then), please visit her website at: 
www.clairegillian.com

If you enjoyed
Purely Relative
, please consider
leaving a review. Authors depend on word of mouth and recommendations from
friends, especially new and/or self-published or indie authors.

Continue reading for a bonus scene from
The P.U.R.E.
written from Jon's point of view--“The First Kiss.”

I’d been itching to get inside Bob’s
office all night. Gayle being the catalyst for my invasion presented a slight
complication but perhaps I could kill two birds with one stone–get the
bugs planted and keep Gayle out of trouble. Again.

I pulled the door shut behind us to keep Nicky from following
but also because Gayle had grown louder and more boisterous, and keeping a low
profile was a better way to play the scene. Time to wrap the party up and get
her home.

“Thanks, Gayle.” I hitched a hip on the edge of Bob’s desk. “I
never thought she’d be so persistent.”

“You’re weckum.” She swayed, her eyes glassy and wild.

Wow. She was really shit-faced. But I’d watched her. She’d
only had maybe two glasses, or so I thought. How and when had she consumed more
without my noticing?

“Well-come.” Her second attempt wasn’t much better than her
first and she obviously knew it. Snorts of laughter as she moved closer wafted
a cloud of alcohol my way.

“Gayle, how much have you had to drink?”

“Nosso mush.” She jerked forward and thrust three fingers in
my face, forcing me to flinch to save my eyeballs. She changed finger
positions, pantomiming holding a thimble-sized object.

I caught hold of her elbows to keep her from falling on her
ass. She had never seemed so tiny and vulnerable as she did in that moment. Thoughts
I had no business entertaining made a play for control of my brain and other
parts of me.
No. No. No.
I couldn’t allow them to gain any sort of
foothold. Business. Just business. We needed to keep it that way. I needed to
finish my mission, gather evidence, then turn the screws. “Maybe I should take
you home.”

The smile on her face fell and she stilled. “You, Jon
Cripps, are looking very … kissy … kiss-bull.” She slid her arms up my chest
and around my neck.

Sweet Jesus, give me strength!
She pressed closer,
her body warm and supple against mine. My blood roused at the overwhelming
temptation–her scent, the press of her breasts, her large blue eyes
gazing up into mine, flaxen hair tousled like she’d just rolled out of bed.
Bed…
my bed… naked. No! Not my bed! Think of Thalia. Think of the bureau. Think of
the mission. Think of Bob just on the other side that door, of Kenneth, of
Jeff. Don’t screw this up and for God’s sake, keep your hands off her.