She shook her head. “I’m fine where I’m at.”
“Serving coffee?”
Her gray eyes narrowed. “Something wrong with that?”
“Not a thing if that was all you aspire to do. Is it?”
She looked away. “I’m not cut out for that sort of work. It’s too much of a commitment.” Her gaze flicked back to him at the word and he had the feeling they were treading over too-thin boards.
“Are you sure you’re not just afraid of failing?”
Her lips twisted. “Well, of course there’s that, too.” She pushed out of the chair. “I’m going to make a salad to go with the pizza after all. Would you mind letting the dogs out for a few minutes?”
She wanted a little space. It worked for him. He wanted a little space, too.
Maybe then he could remember all the reasons why it was important to keep his hands off her and not complicate the hell out of their arrangement.
He opened the door and called the dogs. They immediately trotted out into the chilly evening, jumping right over the bowl of candy that was not as full as it had been when she’d put it out. But it wasn’t empty, either.
She’d told him to have a little faith.
He followed the dogs outside and pulled the door nearly closed behind him before sitting down on the step to watch them. Across the expansive lawn, all signs of Fiona’s birthday party had disappeared. Aside from a light that illuminated the back terrace, the house was dark.
He sighed and ran his hand around the back of his neck, then plucked a miniature candy bar out of the bowl and tore off the wrapper. Chocolates and wine and an uncommonly clear night and here he was, sitting on his damn butt while a wholly desirable woman was inside and as off-limits as she’d ever been.
“This is what makes men drink,” he told the dogs, toasting them with his wineglass.
Zeus trotted back to him and sniffed at his boots, then moved off again to visit yet another bush. After a few minutes, both dogs returned to sit quietly at the base of the concrete steps. Their tails thumped a few times and he set his wineglass on the step beside him. “How does she let you guys go,” he asked, rubbing his hands over their heads.
He heard a soft creak behind him and knew that Bobbie had pulled open the door he hadn’t latched. “They’re meant for greater things than just being my pets.” She stepped out onto the porch and he picked up the wineglass so she had room to sit down beside him.
“Are you going to get cold without a sweater?” He knew plenty of ways to warm her. They marched through his mind with frustrating ease.
But she was shaking her head and wrapped her arms around her bent knees as she looked up at the night sky. “I was getting too warm inside, anyway.”
She hadn’t been the only one.
“And it’s a pretty night,” she added.
“Yeah.” He looked at her. She’d undone her braids, and her hair—curlier than ever—hung over one shoulder, barely contained in a loop of red ribbon.
His fingers tightened around his wineglass. “You should consider what Fiona’s offering you.”
He heard her soft sigh. “There’s safety in sticking with what I know.”
“And there’s a lot of life to be experienced when you step outside your comfort zone.” He handed her the candy bowl. “You can have faith in complete strangers—kids, yet—not to take more than their share of candy. Have some faith in your self.”
“You’ve said that before,” she murmured.
And he meant it even more now.
She set the bowl behind them. “I’ll think about it,” she said after a moment.
“Good girl.”
“Hmm.” She pressed her palms together then looked sideways at him. “Is that how you see me, Gabe? A girl?”
He was suddenly back on those too-thin boards, and they were creaking ominously under his weight. “You should know the answer to that by now.”
“Sometimes I think I do.” Despite the small porch light that glowed behind them and the stars that sparkled above, the shadows were still too deep for him to read her eyes. To know whether those gray irises were soft as a fog, or as silvered as liquid metal. She slowly ran her hand along the length of her hair. “Sometimes I don’t.” He wanted his hand running through her hair.
He looked across to Fiona’s house. Creaking boards had become cracking ones. “Bobbie, when I look at you, all I see is a woman.” A woman he wanted and should know better than to take.
She drew in a soft breath, leaned back on her hands and stretched out her legs, which seemed impossibly long for someone so petite, until her toes were rubbing in Zeus’s ruff. “Even when I’m dressed like this?”
He couldn’t have stopped looking back at her if his life depended on it.
He ran his gaze over the goofy yellow dress that clung in all the right spots, down over the smooth skin on her thighs to the edge of her crazy, striped socks that reached well over her knees.
“Even now.” He tossed back the rest of his wine. “Especially now.”
She drew in a long breath that only succeeded in drawing his attention even more keenly to the taut curves of her breasts beneath the thin fabric. “Gabe—”
His watch suddenly began beeping and they both jerked.
He stifled an oath and shut off the noise. “Pizza should be done.”
“Ah. Right.” She nodded and gathered her feet beneath her again to stand. She stepped around him, her thigh brushing his shoulder, and went inside.
He exhaled roughly. He didn’t need any freaking pizza.
He needed a cold shower. Extremely cold.
He wrapped his hand around the hard iron railing and pulled himself up and followed her inside. The dogs came after him and he closed the door, only to open it right back up again when he realized there was smoke billowing out of the kitchen. He strode into the kitchen and found Bobbie crouched in front of the opened oven, which was clearly the source of the smoke.
“I burned the pizza.”
“I’m the one who set the timer.”
She closed the oven door, but stayed crouched there, her back toward him. “I’m the one who set the temperature fifty degrees higher than it should have been.” She raked her fingers through her hair, got caught on the ribbon tied around it, and yanked out the bright red length, pitching it onto the counter where it slithered off the edge onto the floor. Archimedes sniffed at it, cocked an ear toward Bobbie, who wasn’t watching, and looked as if he were going to steal it, only to think better of it when he turned and looked at Zeus. Both dogs wandered back into the living room.
“I can’t even bake a damn pizza,” she was saying, “and you think I can run Fiona’s agency?”
He set his wineglass on the counter and went up behind her, sliding his hands beneath her arm. He lifted her to her feet and turned her around to face him. “It’s just a pizza.”
“It’s the story of my life,” she countered thickly.
He tipped her face up. The freckles she’d drawn onto her cheeks were smearing beneath a track of tears and he slowly rubbed his thumbs over them. “Then write a new story.”
Her shimmering eyes held something he couldn’t decipher. “Will you be in it? Or come next week, when your custody hearing is finished, one way or the other, will I be a thing of the past, too?”
He could feel his jaw tightening again. Now that he knew her, could he imagine her absence from his life?
“You don’t have to answer that,” she said into the silence. She twisted her face away from him and scrubbed her hands down her cheeks. “Pizza is obviously toast. What kind of dressing do you want on your salad?”
He caught her shoulders again and pulled her around to him. “Forget the damn salad.” Then he covered her mouth with his.
She made a soft sound that rippled through his blood and he pulled her even closer. Her hands slid around his neck, her mouth opening beneath his. She tasted headier than any wine and he’d never felt more parched with thirst.
She looked up at him, her lips red and swollen from his kiss, bright spots of color burning high in her cheeks. “Would that be so bad?”
He met her gaze. “You tell me.”
She drew in a deep breath, the hard peaks of her breasts easily visible through the soft fabric of her dress.
And then she was suddenly reaching for the hem of that dress, drawing it over her head and he had the drowning feeling that he was never going to be the same again.
She held the dress out to the side and released it and it seemed to fall almost in slow motion to the floor, leaving her standing before him wearing nothing but brief black panties, a sheer black bra and those crazy red and green stockings that he was pretty sure were going to give him gray hair if he didn’t peel them down her legs and soon.
“Is this enough of an answer for you?”
He couldn’t have managed a word just then to save his own life. And he couldn’t seem to make himself care, just then, that he’d told himself again and again why things would be better—safer—if they didn’t head down this road.
So he nodded and reached for her, and was damned to realize his own hands were trembling while she seemed not to hesitate at all as she slid her palm against his, threaded her fingers through his, and turned to lead him out of the kitchen, down the short hall and into her bedroom, which was lit only by the whisper of moonlight shining through the window opposite her bed.
She let go of his hand then, and even in the dim light he could see the silvery gleam of her wide eyes as she slowly slid off her bra, her hands hesitating shyly over the high thrust of her bare breasts for a moment. Then she lowered her palms to the edge of the panties that skimmed the tight curve of her hips. She slowly drew them off and started to reach for the thigh-high socks.
He caught her wrists, though, and silently shook his head. Her lips parted a little. Her fingers curled softly and subsided at her sides.
He wanted to race his hands over every inch of her silky, pale skin, but he controlled the impulse to rush, to hurry, to plunder and take quickly before she realized what she was doing, before she changed her mind, before she turned him away.
So he grazed his fingers over the slender slope of her shoulder, and watched the way her eyes fluttered and the pulse at the base of her long throat visibly beat.
He traced the lines of her collarbone, skimmed along the outer curves of her breasts and watched the pale crests turn crimson and pearl even more tightly. He felt the narrowness of her waist, the inviting flare of her hips and the shadowy down at the juncture of her thighs that promised more heaven than he was sure he could survive.
He nudged her back a step, then two. Her legs met the bed and she slowly sat. He trailed his fingers down her legs, behind her knees and he heard her catch her breath a little, a hitching sound that snuck down inside him and twisted his nerves into a fresh, torturous knot. Then he found the elastic edge of the high stocking and slowly rolled it down her smooth, shapely leg.
She drew in another shuddering breath and moistened her lips, leaving behind a distracting glisten. He tugged the knit stocking off her leg and dropped it on the floor. Before he could reach for the other, she silently leaned back on the mattress, her elbows supporting her, and lifted her leg, delicately placing her toes in the center of his chest. Her gaze met his. Challenging. Waiting. Inviting.
He wondered then just who was leading this dance, and decided it didn’t matter. He slowly rolled down the second stocking and tossed it aside, then bent her knee as he leaned over her and took her lips.
He felt her murmur his name through his kiss, and her hands tugged at his shirt, then his belt. He raised up long enough to get rid of the annoying clothes separating them, and then he was covering her again and her arms were holding him, and before he could think another coherent thought, she was guiding him into her and she felt so tight, so wet, so home, that he could have cried like a baby.
He sucked in oxygen through his clenched teeth, pressed his forehead against hers and tried to remember that she was a petite woman and he was not a small man. He didn’t want to crush her. But she was wrapping her strong legs around him, her hips urging his on and on and on. And then her mouth was burning over his shoulder, his neck, as he felt fine ripples start exploding at the ends of his nerves.
“Don’t stop,” she begged when she reached his ear. “Please, Gabe, don’t ever stop.”
And then she cried out and he felt her convulsing around him and all he wanted to do, all he could do, was follow her again.
Right into the fire.
Chapter Twelve
Bobbie heard the buzzing of her doorbell and rolled over, feeling an unfamiliar, delicious ache in her muscles, and peeled her eyes open to peer at the clock.
It was just after seven in the morning.
She inhaled, and slowly ran her hand over the rumpled pillow beside her own, unable to stop a silly smile.
Gabe had stayed the entire night and she hadn’t even had to ask him to.
Reality was so much better than dreams.
She let out a contented sigh, then held the pillow to her face, imagining the scent of him there. She could hear the rattling of her water pipes. Gabe was taking a shower.
The doorbell buzzed again like an angry bee, distracting her from her delight, and she sighed, tossing aside the pillow as she rolled out of bed. The morning air was cold and she shivered hard, grabbing up the blue crocheted afghan off the floor to wrap around herself as she headed out of the bedroom. Her footsteps hesitated as she passed the bathroom door. It was ajar and steam was rolling around the doorframe.
Shivers danced through her, the memories of Gabe’s love-making exquisitely fresh.
Would he like it if she joined him in the shower?
The doorbell buzzed again and, sighing, she put aside the temptation. She went to the front door and yanked it open, not sure who she expected to be on the other side, but it certainly wasn’t the woman standing there on the step. Gabe’s ex-wife.
Stephanie’s hair was pinned back from her face and a trench coat that Bobbie recognized as seriously expensive was wrapped around her slender form. Even in the thin light from the early sun, the other woman’s gaze ran over Bobbie, from her thoroughly mussed hair to her bare shoulders to her equally bare toes peeping out from beneath the blanket.
“I guess I can tell why it took you so long to answer the door.” Stephanie’s voice was as cold as the morning air.
It was all Bobbie could do not to cringe. It was bad enough that she could feel her skin flushing as if she’d been caught doing something terrible.
Gabe was a free man. She was a free woman.
And as far as his ex-wife was concerned, they were even engaged to be married.
Why shouldn’t they spend the night together?
Wishing like fury that she’d bothered to put on something more substantial than a ridiculous afghan, she kept her shoulders straight with an effort. “What can I do for you, Stephanie? Are the children all right?”
The other woman’s lips thinned. “They’re fine, except that Todd left his book in Gabe’s truck the other day and he needs it for his reading class this morning. Believe me, I have no desire to track his father down like this.” Her gaze raked down Bobbie again, her distaste more than obvious. “When I couldn’t reach him at his apartment or his office, I figured he’d be here with you.”
Bobbie knew that, no matter how objectionable the other woman was, the polite thing would have been to invite her inside. But she just couldn’t make herself do it. “I’ll get his truck keys,” she said and turned away from the door.
The shower was still running when she went back to the bedroom, and she found Gabe’s keys in the pocket of his jeans, which were still lying in a heap on the floor.
She pushed her bare feet
into fuzzy slippers and exchanged the afghan for an oversized Mariners sweatshirt that nearly reached her knees. Then she went outside.
Stephanie was waiting by Gabe’s truck, her arms crossed and her toe tapping, as if Bobbie had deliberately taken her time. Ignoring her, Bobbie unlocked the truck and peered into the back where, sure enough, a thin reading book had slipped beneath the seat. She pulled it out and handed it to Stephanie. “I’m sorry we didn’t notice it earlier.”
Stephanie didn’t acknowledge the words as she took the book and turned toward her own car—a sleek BMW that Bobbie figured was worth more than she’d earned in the last five years combined. “Tell Gabe not to forget our appointment with Toddy’s counselor this afternoon.”
Bobbie highly doubted that Gabe would have forgotten it, but she had no desire to antagonize the other woman. “I will.”
Stephanie pulled open her car door and tossed the book inside. But instead of getting in, she looked back at Bobbie. “He’ll break your heart, too, you know.”
At first, Bobbie wasn’t certain she’d even heard right. She stared at the other woman across the uneven pathway and it slowly dawned on her that Stephanie’s rigid posture wasn’t entirely formed by disapproval.
Bobbie also knew that she was afraid of that very thing—a broken heart—just as she knew it was already too late to prevent it.
It had been from the night she’d walked up Fiona’s terrace for the birthday party and Gabe had held out his hand toward her.
But she took a few steps toward the other woman. “I think he’s worth taking the chance.”
“Hmm.” The other woman looked over at Gabe’s truck. “I suppose you’re young enough that you can afford to think that way.” She looked back at Bobbie. “I’m not anymore. All I have are my husband and my children. Ethan has given me everything that Gabriel wouldn’t, and he wants me at his side when he goes to Switzerland, and I want to be with him. Gabe’s intent on destroying that. You do realize that, don’t you?”
Bobbie took another step closer. She could feel the hard edge of the stone paver beneath her soft slippers, and let the solidness of it ground her. “Gabe’s not trying to destroy anything. He’s just trying to hold onto his children.”
Once Upon a Proposal Page 16
