Not that she was far from it to begin with.
She’d denied the use of my town car after I’d met back up with her outside Tina’s office, and I’d been half afraid I’d completely blown it making a move like that, despite her apparent enthusiasm during the kiss itself.
But she’d squeezed my arm reassuringly, giving me a small smile before reminding me about the check-in meeting with my father today, her demeanor letting me know she wasn’t mad.
But I’m still not sure what it is she’s feeling. And it can’t only be me feeling something after that kiss. Not after how close we’ve become.
I watch her out of the corner of my eye, not wanting to give Dad any clue about what’s going on between us. There’s a reason he’s grown so rich. His modus operandi is to find out his opponent’s weakness and ruthlessly capitalize on it.
He shifts in his seat at the head of the table and checks his watch, indicating for Mackenzie to get started. “I’ve got fifteen minutes. Go.”
God, could he be any ruder?
She smiles that smile I’m coming to recognize is purely for show. “Well, we’ve made a lot of progress since the last time we spoke in person. We have a venue for both the ceremony and reception, a date locked in, wedding attire purchased and currently being altered, and caterer, baker, photographer, minister, and live music booked.”
He sniffs, unimpressed with everything she’s accomplished in just a couple weeks. It normally takes people months to do all these things.
“Now that we have a date set in stone,” she continues, “I’ve sent word to the printer for the invitations and already approved a final draft. They’ll go out in the mail tomorrow.”
“And you didn’t think to run it by me?” he asks coldly. What’s he got a stick up his ass about today?
I may be used to his coldness, but Mackenzie’s not, her eyes flashing panic for a second before she remembers herself. “You gave me autonomy,” she replies coolly, holding her ground against him.
And my respect for her just shot up twofold.
“I have a proof here I printed out if you’d like to look at it. The final invitation will be on heavyweight cardstock with more vibrant colors, though. And I made sure it was a date you had preapproved as being free on your calendar.” She pulls it out of the folder in front of her, sliding it over to him. “Gabriel helped pick out the design.”
He makes a noise of derision. “Oh, he helped?”
I stay silent, knowing nothing I say will change his mind, but apparently, Mackenzie hasn’t gotten the memo.
“He’s been instrumental in the planning of this wedding,” she says, more fierceness in her voice than I’d expect. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without him.”
Dad glances up at her in surprise, but I barely attend to him as my eyes lock with hers.
No one has defended me to Dad since… Mom died. Connor tried but was quickly shot down, and if Archer ever has, I’m certainly not aware of it.
“So you took my warning seriously?” he asks, turning to me. “Or did you pay her to say that?”
Before I can open my mouth to respond, Mackenzie beats me to the punch. “Gabriel is an honorable, dependable man. He would never try to bribe me.”
He purses his lips, visibly annoyed. “Then remember who’s cutting your check,” he grits out icily.
She swallows, but doesn’t kowtow to him. “I’m aware, sir.”
My eyes dart between the two of them, not liking the direction this meeting is going. As much as I appreciate her defense of me, I don’t need him chewing her out, or worse, firing her. “I did what you asked me to, Dad. I’m following all your stipulations.”
“You’ve only taken one photo with Serena,” he says peevishly, thankfully turning his attention from Mackenzie. “I wanted photos all over town with the two of you.”
“Serena’s been… busy lately,” she chimes in. “But I can take one of them during their dancing lesson after this.”
If the girl decides to show up.
And like I divined it, Serena walks into the boardroom, giving an apologetic smile as she takes a seat across the table from me. “Sorry, I got held up.”
Oh, so she can manage to make it today, but not yesterday when we actually needed her?
Although, I shouldn’t be complaining. Her absence led to that kiss.
Dad turns the force of his glare onto Serena, who shrinks in her seat. Maybe I’ll finally have someone to share the burden of being the disappointment of the family with.
Mackenzie continues to outline the progress we’ve made, as well as what’s still scheduled, until Archer pops his head in the room to tell Dad they’re waiting for him at whatever oh so important meeting is next.
Serena immediately perks up, staring at him unabashedly, but he doesn’t even appear to notice her before leaving. She visibly wilts in her seat, lowering her lashes, more somber than usual.
God, now she’s got me feeling sorry for her too. And I’m the one marrying her.
“Let me know who RSVP’s to the wedding,” Dad says, rising from his seat. “And who doesn’t.”
No words of praise for the work we’ve done, not even an acknowledgment of meeting any kind of basic standards.
He exits, leaving a vacuum in his wake, and I glance at the two women, ready to get this next part of the day over with.
I clear my throat, catching their attention. “My town car’s waiting downstairs.”
Mackenzie nods, packing up her bag as Serena’s face takes on a miserable expression. Yeah, I’m not happy about having to go to a dancing lesson with her either.
We take the elevator down, Mackenzie directly next to me, her gardenia-scented perfume drifting over. I inhale, wishing I could back her up against the wall, lean in to her neck, and breathe in that delicious scent before I kiss her again, over and over until I have the shape of her mouth memorized.
Serena scratches at her arm idly and I’m suddenly brought out of my fantasy. You’d think it’d be more awkward being in a cramped space with both my fiancee and the woman I kissed yesterday, but it’s actually… not. It would be different if I felt something for Serena, but we’re practically strangers. And while I can objectively appreciate her beauty, it does nothing to stir anything inside me. Nothing to heat me up, excite me.
Not the way Mackenzie does.
The woman who stands up to Harold fucking Bishop to defend me. I still can’t believe that. And if she regretted that kiss yesterday, she wouldn’t have supported me today, right? Which means… she must be okay with it. She’ll let me do it again.
Please let it happen again.
If there was an Olympic sport for distressed sighing, I’m fairly sure Cesar Montanez would medal at least bronze.
“Your steps,” he sighs to Serena. “You go back as he goes forward. Do you understand?”
She stomps on my foot, the thing practically numb by now, and lets go of me, shame radiating off her. “I’ve never been very coordinated,” she mumbles.
“No kidding.” I don’t bother lowering my voice, taking the opportunity to wander over to Mackenzie, who’s sitting over by the stereo in the private room at Cesar’s Dance Studio. “I thought you said this guy was the best instructor in Manhattan.”
“He’s not a miracle worker,” she says, watching him try to guide Serena through the correct foot placement. “Give him time.”
“I’m not going to lessons every week. I already know how to dance.” I’m willing to do a lot for the wedding, but it’s because I get to be with Mackenzie. She’s the one who makes it bearable.
Not Serena with her ice cold fingers and insistence on trampling over my feet.
“And how, may I ask, did you become such a good dancer? I have to admit, I was a little surprised.”
“You liked my smooth skills?”
She gives a sly smile. “Oh, is that what they were?”
“Yep. And when you’ve been to as many benefits as I have, you pick up a thing or
two.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but is interrupted by Cesar waving us over.
“Ms. Sweet, would you mind stepping in for a moment? She needs to see what proper dancing looks like.”
“Uh, okay.”
He positions me in front of Mackenzie, encouraging me to take her hand and hold her waist. Well, he doesn’t have to ask me twice.
He queues the music again, her body moving in rhythm with mine as I guide her across the floor. Now this is how it should be. Her hand warm and soft in my grasp, our eyes locked together as we dance, until it’s just the two of us.
I press her in a bit closer, appreciating the opportunity to hold her guilt-free. If only it were this easy all the time.
“Yes, yes,” he exclaims. “This is what dancing should look like. See the chemistry between them. The effortless grace. He moves and she follows. It’s instinctual.”
I glance over at Serena, who seems to withdraw further, hunching in on herself and crossing her arms over her stomach. Great.
He shuts the music off and she weakly chuckles. “Maybe you could just do the first dance for me,” she suggests to Mackenzie.
Yeah, if only.
I reluctantly let go of the woman I actually want to dance with, letting out a sigh to rival Cesar’s. “I appreciate all your help, man. But I don’t think we’re going to improve much. Would you mind if we use the room for a while longer by ourselves?”
“By all means,” he says graciously. He comes over to shake my hand, side-eyeing Serena once more as he leaves.
“What if we just do a really slow song?” I suggest. “Something that you barely even have to move for. Like some eighth-grade dance kind of song.”
“I think that would be best for everyone,” Mackenzie agrees, walking over to the iPod hooked up to the speaker system, swiping through till she finds what she wants.
I take Serena’s hand as Etta James croons to us about finding love and we discover that she’s able to at least master swaying side to side in place. Thank God.
When the music ends, she seems to brighten a bit. “Great! So that’s it then?” She walks over to where her purse hangs on a hook by the door.
“Well, what if you dance together later for a different song?” Mackenzie asks. “We should prepare for that too.”
“I’m not dancing again,” Serena says, the most firm I’ve ever heard her speak.
“But it’s your wedding.”
“I’m already making enough of a fool of myself once. No need to repeat the experience.”
She walks out, leaving me and Mackenzie gaping after her.
“Did you-” Mackenzie starts in indignation.
“Forget her.” I head over to the iPod, still unable to believe they’re using this relic, and find a playlist titled First Dance Songs. “Come dance with me.”
I hold my hand out and she hesitates for a moment before taking it, curling in close to my body, the movement natural. Easy. Right.
The King serenades us with how he can’t help falling in love, another simple tempoed song Serena and I could have used. Except the words aren’t meant for me and my intended bride. They seem to fit better with someone else, her caramel curls soft under my chin, intoxicating floral scent weaving me deeper under her spell.
She’s the first person I’ve opened up to in a long time, connected with past the superficial acquaintances my life has become consumed with as of late. I’d gone to that party that got me in trouble weeks ago not because I cared about anyone there, but because I was looking to fill time, bored and needing a distraction from the tedium that’s been creeping up on me lately. It’s partly why I agreed to this marriage to begin with - what else was there for me anyway?
But that was before discovering her. And I like this man I am with her. Someone who helps. Who protects. Who is appreciated.
I’ve never consciously thought about the need to fill those roles in my life, but it’s something I’m realizing I enjoy. Maybe that’s why I like going to the children’s hospital so much. And because it’s the one place I’m not under my father’s thumb.
“Will you go with me tomorrow to visit Kaia and the other kids?”
“Yes,” she murmurs, no hesitation, still swaying in my arms.
It’s not the controlled, sweeping movements across the dance floor like earlier, but this intimate closeness is even better. My palms rest on her waist, her hands linked behind my neck, but this is no eighth-grade dance. This is only the beginning.
A tension sits in the air, and as the song comes to an end, our bodies naturally still.
But she doesn’t let go. And I sure as hell won’t be the first, not if she’s letting me keep my hands on her. My palms drift to her lower back, resting perilously close to the top of her ass, and her grip on me tightens, breaths picking up.
She wants this.
I bend my head down, skimming my nose along her neck, breathing her in. What is it about her scent that affects me so much? The unique floral composition? Or because it belongs to her?
I press a soft kiss to the delicate skin, craving her. Then another. And another.
Her fingers curl in my hair, the two of us silent, afraid to break this moment as I trace a path upward until I’m finally kissing her mouth, everything in my world settling into place again. This is where I’m supposed to be. With this woman.
My hands move south, cupping her perfect ass, drawing her further into my body. Needing her close. For always.
She gives a soft sigh as I deepen the kiss, keeping one hand on her ass as I bring the other up her body, shaping the heavy weight of her breast. If only we were somewhere more private, I could pull the neckline of her dress down to discover what I’ve been imagining for weeks.
Her hands grip the back of my neck, the pressure exactly what I crave, her eagerness ramping up as she twines herself around me. I grind into her, both of us releasing quiet sounds of need, the taste of her mouth consuming me, drugging me.
This is what being engaged should be like. This need to have you now feeling. This intense yearning to be close. This give and take, this magnetic pull, this sensation deep in my lower belly I haven’t experienced before. This isn’t simply attraction, this is something more. Something I want. Need.
I’ve never thought about a woman so much, sought out ways to be with her, help her, do anything to see her smile. Or been so content to just be in her presence.
But it couldn’t have come at a worse time. And all too soon, it’s over.
She untwines her arms from around my neck, taking a step back.
“Gabriel, we can’t.”
Chapter Twelve
Gabriel
I stare at her, lipstick smudged from where I kissed her, chest still rising and falling heavily.
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
I ignore the sinking sensation in my stomach, reaching a hand forward to deliberately brush my fingers against hers, taking her hand in mine. “Tell me you don’t feel this attraction the same as I do.”
I know she does. I felt it in her kiss.
She swallows, staring soundlessly at where our hands are joined. She can’t deny it, but she lets go of me all the same.
“It doesn’t matter,” she finally says. “You’re getting married.”
“It’s not a real marriage. You understand that more than anyone.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. So I won’t touch her? Or so she won’t touch me? “It is legally.”
“I barely know her. Or like her.”
She shakes her head stubbornly, a determined glint in her eye. Normally I enjoy seeing her confidence, her resoluteness. But not now. That stone in my stomach sinks all the way down.
“The kissing… it can’t happen again. It’s not right.”
This is the only thing in my life that is right. Everything else is a farce. “You won’t admit you want me?”
She bites at her bottom lip, staring at me silently for a long mom
ent. “Please don’t make this hard.”
I run a hand through my hair, the urge to pull it out nearly overwhelming. “You know what’s hard? Resisting you every time I see you. Kissing is only the beginning.”
She bites harder at her lip, till I’m afraid she almost might draw blood. “I’m not a cheater,” she whispers.
Was she actually worried about that today? “It’s not cheating,” I insist. “I feel nothing for her. Not like I do with you.”
She stares at me for a moment before closing her eyes, a helpless desperation crossing her face. “Gabriel…”
Her tone is pleading, begging me to understand. And as much as I want to convince her otherwise, I won’t be the jerk who doesn’t take no for an answer and ends up ruining everything.
“Okay,” I finally say. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s not you, just the… situation.”
I nod resolutely.
“And please, I don’t want things to be awkward,” she says, looking at me again, gaze still filled with dismay.
“No awkwardness,” I promise. I never want her to feel that way around me, no matter what happens between us. “We’ll be friends.”
“Friends,” she agrees.
“But just know,” I tell her in a low voice, taking a step closer. “If circumstances were different, I wouldn’t stay only friends with you.”
She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, then shuts it, turning away. “Thank you for understanding.”
Oh, I understand. I just fucking hate it.
I spot Mackenzie standing outside the entrance of the hospital as my town car pulls up the next day, the light breeze teasing her hair.
She refused my offer to pick her up, and though she didn’t give a reason, it had to be because of yesterday. At least she still agreed to come visit Kaia with me. I want her in my life, even if we have to be just “friends”.
I join her outside, keeping my hands in my pockets so I’m not tempted to hug her in greeting. To kiss her on the cheek.
Resisting the Billionaire Page 11
