“You two go get the gravel so we can start on the base,” I order, and they drop their tools, walking around the house to get to the company truck. I add another stake into the ground, and as I do, I can’t help looking up at the second floor.
Gabby is in front of the arched window that she’d told me belonged to her studio. Her cellphone is pressed to her ear. I frown a bit as she closes her eyes for a second and then says something, almost in defeat. Then she hangs up and turns away from the window quickly.
I don’t think much of it as Alex and Jacob come back with the gravel and dump it into the wheelbarrow. They dump and spread it in the rectangular cutout we shoveled before, and while they do, I go for my bottle of water on the cement steps. I hear a car door shut a short distance away and then the car lock alarm gives a short beep.
I get back to work, but I notice a tall Asian man walking into the kitchen of Gabby’s home. He’s wearing a blue button-down shirt and gray dress pants. He’s saying something—assumedly to Gabby—and then he moves out of sight, and she walks through the kitchen to follow him.
When they’re back in plain sight, he says something to her that makes her smile, then cups her face in his hands, kissing her on the mouth. It’s not a delicate or passionate kiss, like most married couples’ are. He holds her face like he owns it, kissing her way too hard. She stumbles a little, but gains her footing as he kisses her again.
By the third kiss, I look away and get back to work. Maybe that’s what she likes, and maybe she was right about what she said to me yesterday. Maybe I don’t know shit about girls like her.
Of course, not even a minute later, the double doors swing open. Gabby walks out with the man trailing behind her. She smiles at me, but it’s not warm like the others she’d given me before. This one is forced.
The man steps beside her and takes a look around the backyard. From where he stands, I realize he’s almost the same height as I am, and I’m six-foot-two. He’s wearing dress shoes, though, so maybe he’s around six feet even with them off. Gabby is about five inches shorter. She’s slightly shorter than Shay, who was about five feet and five inches.
“Man, this is a mess!” the man says to no one in particular, eyes widening. “Think I liked it better the way it was.”
“It’s not done yet, Kyle,” Gabby says to him, her voice soft. So this is the infamous Kyle. I can see why she’s with him. He’s a decent-looking gentleman. Clean, crisp clothes that are clearly tailored to fit him. Gabby’s eyes swoop over to meet mine, and this time her smile is warmer. “This is Mr. Marcel Ward, the owner of the landscaping company. They’re doing a great job so far. Fast workers. Marcel, this is my husband, Kyle Moore.”
Kyle takes a small step forward as I extend my arm to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Moore.”
“Likewise, Mr. Ward.” He steps back, reclaiming his spot next to Gabby. His hand goes around her waist and he reels her in just a bit, tightening his hold around her. I briefly focus on the hand he has locked around her waist before peering up at her, but her smile doesn’t change. She smiles even harder. Clearly, she’s used to this motherfucker’s ways.
I put my eyes on his again. “I appreciate you letting us take on this project, Mr. Moore. We won’t disappoint you.”
“I sure hope not,” he replies way too smugly. “Then I’d have to hire someone to rip it up and start all over.”
I avoid saying something slick. I’ve met men like him. Small dicks and big egos, as I like to call it. I know how to handle him.
“That won’t be the case with my crew workin’ on it.” I really want to pick up a shovel and hit him square in the face with it. I don’t know what it is about him, but I know for a fact that this guy’s an asshole. How did someone as caring as Gabby end up with an arrogant fucker like him?
“Right.” Kyle grabs his wife’s hand and turns for the house. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Ward. Gabby, let’s go before we’re late for our reservation, hmm?”
“Yeah, come on.” She nods at Kyle before glancing over her shoulder at me. He’s escorting her into the house, his hand on the small of her back.
“Have a good weekend, Miss Gabby.”
She turns and looks at me in full this time, putting on a real smile. “Thank you, Mr. Ward. Have a great weekend.”
The doors close quickly, courtesy of Mr. Kyle Moore himself, who gives me a slight frown beforehand, and for the first time since I’ve visited this house, the blinds of the double doors slide shut too.
“Well damn,” Jacob says, resting most of his weight on the handle of a shovel. “That guy’s a fucking prick.”
“A prick with a smokin’ hot wife,” Alex eggs on, then he goes back to compacting the gravel. “It’s always a fucking shame when girls like that choose money over happiness. Did you see her eyes? She’s trying to be all go-lucky happy around him, but that chick is probably miserable as fuck on the inside. I bet he doesn’t satisfy her. She needs a real man, you know what I mean, boss?”
“Not my problem,” I mutter, as I get back to the stakes. “We’ll finish stakin’ and compactin’ and get back to this on Monday mornin’.” I side-eye the double doors and can’t help wondering what they might be doing on the other side of them.
It shouldn’t bug me that they could possibly be fucking on the table I once sat at, but it does, and only because that motherfucker doesn’t deserve a girl like her. I’ve only met him once, and I’m already not a fan.
I’m hoping that come Monday, that prick is back on a plane and over eight hundred miles away, not here, shifting everyone’s mood, including his wife’s.
That wasn’t the Gabby I’d been talking to for the past three days. That was someone else, and whoever that was she was trying to be, I don’t fucking like her one bit.
TWELVE
Gabby
Kyle wouldn’t tell me where we were eating while I got dressed, but an hour later, I find myself seated on the second floor of Ellie’s L’Etoile Verte. In front of me is a freshly tossed house salad and to the right of me is a bottle of champagne on ice.
“Kyle,” I say, laughing a little. “What is all this?”
“Just a little way to warm ourselves up to the area,” he says, smiling wide at me. “We haven’t had the chance to celebrate our move. I’ve been busy working, and we were unpacking for the past two weeks. We deserve this time to relax, escape.” He reaches across the table for my hands and squeezes them.
“Aww. This is really sweet.”
“Had a table reserved since last week.” He motions to one of the waiters, and as if he’d told her the plan before, she takes the champagne off the ice and opens it, causing a loud pop to ring around us.
I giggle as the champagne slowly spills over, but the waitress is skilled. She already has two glasses in her right hand, allowing the champagne to serve itself as the frothy, gold bubbles fill the glass. “Enjoy,” she murmurs, placing the glasses down in front of us. Kyle gives her a simple bob of the head, and she walks off.
“Let’s make a toast to this new beginning.” Kyle lifts his flute up and I do the same. “This is to our happiness, a brighter future, and to our love. Nothing will ever break us, babe.”
I nod in agreement. “Nothing, babe.”
Our glasses clink, and we sip while classical music softly plays from the speakers around us.
“So,” Kyle starts, sitting back in his chair. “The men doing the backyard aren’t giving you any trouble, are they?”
His question catches me off guard. “Why would they be giving me trouble?”
“Well, just that you’re home alone a lot, and there are a lot of them compared to you. I know how those men like to catcall and stare and whatever else they do.”
“They’re fine, Kyle.” I sit up straight. “They’re actually really nice. The boss answers all of my questions and gives me the rundown on what’s next, so I’m not confused about what they’re doing.”
“Hmm.” He sips his champagne. “I still think my i
nstincts were right about him, though. Seems like an incompetent jerk. Knew it from that email he sent you when he got you to make me change my mind.”
I laugh. “He’s not an asshole. He’s a good guy—his whole crew is great.”
“Well, I’ll be glad when they’re done. The yard is a disaster,” he scoffs. “Are you sure they’re going to be able to get it done within the next few weeks? The plan is to have it done by May, correct?”
“He guaranteed it. I’m sure they will finish before then.”
“All right.” Kyle sits forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Look, Gabs. I feel like shit for working so much. I’m trying really hard to have the office relocated to South Carolina, or at least someplace that’s within reasonable driving distance.”
“Oh my gosh, Kyle. I told you it’s fine, babe! Stuff like that takes time.”
“Yeah I know. It’s just a tricky situation. If I move the company, we’ll have to find new employees around the area. I’m sure most of them won’t want to relocate. They have families, all of that stuff. I have to work out the kinks.”
“I understand.” I place my hand on top of his, rubbing it. “Is everything okay with your dad? Did you see him?”
“Yeah, he’s better,” he sighs. “Mum says he’s been stubborn, probably mad he’s stuck in the house for most of his days now. No more golf trips or hiking. None of that extreme stuff he liked to do.”
“Poor Pops.”
“Yeah. But, he’ll be okay. It’s good that he gets to stay home. He needs to relax, for once in his damn life.”
“I agree.” I look him over and feel a rush of warmth run through my chest. My husband is truly, truly handsome.
When I first met him, I fell in love with his almond-shaped eyes and the thick lashes that surround his dark-brown irises. His beige skin is several shades lighter than mine, his black hair always combed with gel. His muscles are solid beneath his white dress shirt, and I want so badly to run my fingers over his chest, just to feel how rock hard and solid he is. Kyle loves to keep himself in shape. He’s the reason I started taking my health more seriously.
I found out on our second date that he’s biracial—mixed with British and Malaysian blood. He was born in Malaysia, was brought to Great Britain as a baby, and then his family moved to the United States when he was thirteen. He claims his accent isn’t as strong as it once was, but to me it’s still defined, and the sound of it is to die for.
Sometimes I love when he leaves because when he returns, I always find more things to love about him that I hadn’t noticed before. For instance, his smile. When he’s worried, it becomes lopsided, but it makes him appear so sweet. So innocent. I can tell he’s concerned about his father, but he wants to keep the mood positive, so I let it go…for now.
“What?” he asks, smiling at me, revealing one of his dimples.
“Nothing. I just missed you. That’s all.”
His eyes light up. “I missed you too, babe.” As if we’ve read each other’s minds, we both lean over the table just enough to give a peck on each other’s lips,
The waitress returns several minutes later, this time with the food we ordered. She places my crab salad down in front of me, and Kyle’s grilled tuna in front of him. Kyle thanks her, and she leaves us to our meals.
The food is simply amazing, and for the rest of our dinner, Kyle and I talk about some of the changes he’s making to the company as well as the lunch he shared with his parents yesterday.
By the time we walk to the car, I’m satisfied, filled with good food, and even greater champagne.
Kyle drives home with the sunroof of the BMW open, laughing at me as one of my favorite songs by Rihanna comes on. I sing about diamonds in the sky while he cruises home, and we both take in the beach air and our new surroundings.
Palm trees are on every corner, and the AC is on, mixing with the natural beach air spilling through the sunroof. I try to get him to sing with me, but he’s so modest, waving a hand, telling me I’ve got it. Nights like this with him are always the best. When he comes home, I have all of his attention.
When we get out of the car, Kyle wraps an arm around my waist, then lowers his hand to cup my ass as we walk up the stoop. I grin up at him as he leads the way to our front door, but as soon as we’re inside the house and the door is locked behind us, I can’t hold back anymore.
I turn in his arms and jump up. He catches me, cupping my ass in his hands as I kiss him. “I missed you,” I moan between kisses.
“Mmm, I missed you too, babe.”
We don’t even make it to the bedroom. He’s stumbling to the kitchen with me in his hands, bumping into the island counter. I tear at his creaseless buttoned shirt, yanking it apart. The buttons fly across the kitchen floor, but I don’t care. I’ve waited long enough. I need him.
“Mmm…babe. What’s going on?” he asks as I suck on his bottom lip.
I have no idea what’s going on, and I don’t want to think about it or make sense of it. For once, I want us to chase our instincts.
Kyle likes to take the lead. He’s always been that way, but I want him to sense my urgency. I want him to stop asking questions, stop treating me so delicately, and just take me.
But, of course, he doesn’t. His hands carefully roam down, drifting over my waist. He moves between my legs, his strained cock on my lower belly. I press on his chest, trying to push him back so I can climb down and get on my knees, but he resists. I groan in protest. He pretends he doesn’t hear it.
“Unfasten my belt,” he mumbles on my mouth, and I do so without hesitation. I unzip his pants too, even though he didn’t ask me to. When he lowers his pants, he brings my bottom closer to the edge of the counter. His hand runs up my thigh and goes beneath my skirt.
“Shit, Gabs,” he breathes on my mouth. “Why aren’t you wearing any panties?”
“I’ve been waiting for this since you called and told me you were on the way,” I pant.
He studies my eyes very briefly, then he goes back to it, cupping one of my cheeks and using his other hand to grip his cock and point it at my entrance. When he tilts his hips and thrusts inside me, I gasp, throwing my arms around his neck. I want him to go slow, torture me just a little, but he doesn’t.
Kyle is tired. I can always tell by the way he starts thrusting quickly, not even giving me a chance to adjust around him. It’s been a week since we last had sex, and he hates when I play with myself while he’s away, so I don’t tease or taunt my own body. I just wait for him.
I’m so impatient right now that I beg him to take it slow, to take his time, but he’s so lost in the moment—so lost inside me.
He brings the hand on my cheek up to the back of my neck and holds it, gluing his chest to mine, trying to get deeper. He succeeds, and I moan while his body stiffens. By the way his other arm locks around me, I can tell he’s about to come.
“Oh, God. Oh, yes, Gabby.” He’s holding me close, coming hard. He remains still for a split second, then sluggishly pulls himself away.
I press my lips, tucking my hair behind my ears.
“Damn, you’re so good,” he says, then drops a kiss on my lips. I force a smile as he helps me off the counter. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s hit the shower. Get some sleep.”
I nod, but deep inside my heart plummets. I hate the thoughts that take over, because I know Kyle is exhausted. I know he’s had a long week and now that he’s home all he wants to do is rest.
Our sex sessions are never long, and if he doesn’t take care of me the same night we have sex, he definitely will the next morning. I try not to stress over it.
Once we’ve showered, I rub some lotion on while Kyle puts on his pajamas. He drags himself to bed, curling up on his side of the mattress. I finish putting on lotion and then toss on a silky, pearly-white gown. It’s his favorite one—the one that reveals a lot of bosom. Shutting off the lights, I climb in bed and rest my head on his chest.
“Kyle?” I call.
“Hmm?”
“Let’s go again,” I plead.
He’s quiet a beat. His breathing levels out. “I’m tired, Gabs. It’s been such a long day. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise.”
The disappointment I feel stings, but only because I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. I want—no, I need it—right now.
“Kyle,” I whine, but he doesn’t respond, and I’m annoyed that he made me sound like a whiny little bitch. I pick my head up to look at him, and he’s asleep.
Gah! I swear he’s narcoleptic, falling asleep at the drop of a hat!
“Ugh.” I roll away from him, lying flat on my back. I feel a fire between my legs—its raging and needs to be put out immediately. I cross my ankles and stare up at the ceiling, trying to block the urgency and fall asleep, but it’s impossible.
I sit up and peer around the dark room. I need wine.
Rolling out of bed, I walk downstairs to get to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of white wine. Afterward, I walk to the living room and sit on my favorite spot on the L-shaped sofa.
From where I sit, I can see the backyard. The lights reveal the stakes that are in the ground, as well as a wheelbarrow with the words Ward Landscaping printed on the side of it.
Seeing it instantly reminds me of Mr. Ward. I sip my wine, ignoring the thought that rapidly crosses me. Then I take another sip. And then comes a big gulp. Before I know it, I’ve finished my wine, but I don’t let myself sit for too long. I go back to the kitchen and refill my glass, then head back to my spot on the sofa.
I take several sips of the fruity wine, staring at that damn wheelbarrow, remembering Marcel that first day, without his shirt.
“No,” I mutter. No, I’m not doing it. I’m not about to put images in my head of my landscaper. That’s what I tell myself, but the longer I focus on that black wheelbarrow with white letters, the more I think about his voice. His smoky, Southern accent, that I find way too damn appealing.
I place my glass down and then sit back, sinking into the cushion of the sofa. My hands slide over my belly, then across my inner thighs. The silky material of my gown is pushed up to my hips, and I’m not wearing panties, due to the anticipation of having Kyle again.
The Man I Can't Have Page 8
