“He was the one that got us access to the garden here,” Mackenzie says, stepping in closer. Almost like she’s worried this woman might jump at me any second. “He’s a friend.”
I smother the sarcastic laugh that arises. As much as I’m hating the word friend right now, it’s the only thing I have to cling to.
“You’re friends with Gabriel Bishop?” the blonde asks, turning to Mackenzie with what appears to be newfound respect. “I had no idea.”
Well, hopefully she’ll tell everyone she knows and send business Mackenzie’s way then.
“So about the face painter?” I ask, trying to bring us back to the original topic.
“He called in sick,” Mackenzie sighs.
“So find someone else,” the woman says, a bit of a snap to her voice. But she then turns to me, ingratiating as she adds, “Not that you need to worry about it. I’m so honored you would even stop by.”
She acts like I came because of her.
“Here’s the birthday boy,” a cheerful man in his early forties announces, opening the park gate with a chubby baby tucked securely in his arms. Thank God for a distraction.
I pull Mackenzie aside as the woman coos at the baby, sufficiently occupied. “Does she seriously expect you to find a replacement? Guests are arriving in ten minutes.”
“I guess.” She blows out a breath as she rolls her eyes. “I’m beginning to think the commission on this wasn’t worth the headache.” I eye the lines bracketing her mouth, her normal can-do attitude replaced by fatigue. And the party hasn’t even started.
“I’ll take care of it,” I tell her, pulling out my phone and bringing up Google to search for New York City face painters for hire.
“No, it’s my responsibility-”
“Mackenzie.” I wait till she looks at me before telling her in no uncertain terms, “Go finish what you need to do. I’ll handle this.”
She bites her bottom lip, gratitude in her eyes. “Thanks.” She squeezes my arm briefly, the action making my stomach dip in delight.
How freaking hard up am I for something like that to get me going?
Or just how completely gone for her am I?
I walk over to the edge of the garden area, calling the first listing that comes up on the search engine. But after seven calls of straight to voicemails or apologetic sorry, I’m already booked replies, I’m sensing a pattern that any worthwhile face painters in the city aren’t available for day-of gigs.
Okay, new plan. I’ll paint faces. How hard can it be?
I call up Davis and ask him to go buy some kid-safe paints and brushes and go to inform Mackenzie of my idea.
“Great,” she says distractedly as she directs another attendee to place their present on the gift table just to the right of the photo booth. “Hold on, what?”
“I called seven people, but they were all either booked or not answering. Probably because they were already at some other birthday party considering it’s the middle of the day on a Saturday.”
“You’re going to paint the kids’ faces?”
“If you remember correctly, I make an excellent assistant.”
“Oh, believe me, I know. I’m just saying, you don’t have to-”
“Why thank you, Gabriel. How kind of you to offer your services. I think that’s what you meant to say.”
She fails to hide a smile, gazing at me for a moment. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The words themselves are innocent, but something about the way she says them… I step closer, no plan in my mind for what I’m actually going to do when a little girl runs between us, chased by her mother.
We jump apart, soon interrupted by Mackenzie’s client asking where she can go to the bathroom.
I pull out my phone as she directs her, starting up a YouTube crash course on face painting, and after fifteen minutes, I’m semi-confident in my abilities to transform a child into one of two options: a butterfly or Spiderman. Hope you like those, kids.
Mackenzie runs out to grab the supplies from Davis when he returns, and we quickly set up a booth as a small line forms. Are these children that ravenous for face paint?
An hour later, I’m fairly sure I’ll need a chiropractor after leaning forward for so long, and as the last child skips off to one of the carnival games, I stretch my arms over my head to pop my back.
“I see you expanded your repertoire,” Mackenzie smiles as she saunters up, stopping in front of my table. “I saw a rogue Batman out there.”
“Kid wouldn’t let me do Spiderman. Apparently he’s a ride or die DC fan.”
“Gotta say, I’m pretty impressed considering you just learned. At least, I’m assuming you don’t have some kind of face painting side hustle I’m not aware of.”
“I took a couple of art classes in college,” I admit. “But that’s the extent of my artistic abilities.” I rinse off the brush in front of me in a cup of water and pat it dry with a paper towel. “Do you have a free minute?”
“Yeah, everything’s running smoothly for now.”
“Here.” I motion for her to sit down and wave the paintbrush enticingly. “How about a butterfly? I’m a recently credentialed expert.”
“I can’t get my face painted. Danielle would flip.”
“No, no. Here.” I take hold of her hand, stroking my thumb over the back of it, her skin soft against mine.
She bites her lip, watching as I continue to rub my thumb over her, then nods her head.
I dip the smaller of the two brushes I have in a dark violet paint and set to work, leaning over her hand to draw the wings.
“I spoke with Serena last night,” she says softly, her non sequitur startling me slightly.
Paint globs on her, and I grab a paper towel to wipe the excess away. “Oh, yeah? What’d she say?”
Her gaze stays focused on my subtle brush strokes, still biting her lip softly. “Until the wedding, the two of you aren’t really together.”
My brows raise of their own volition. “And how’d you get on that topic?”
“Can’t tell you that,” she shakes her head. “Client-planner confidentiality.”
“Right.”
“But, um, it got me thinking.”
My body tenses, not sure where she’s going with this. “About?”
“Us.”
I set the paintbrush down, the butterfly only half finished. “I thought you said there couldn’t be an us.”
“There can’t,” she rushes to say. “I mean, not formally. Obviously.” Her hand trembles in mine, and I grip her fingers until she stops. “But maybe we could… flirt. Until you and her are officially together.”
I stare at her for a moment, unsure how to respond, until her face does this wobbly kind of motion.
“That sounds pretty stupid, doesn’t it?” she asks. “It seemed better in my head.”
“No, I want to flirt with you.” Wasn’t I just thinking earlier I’ll take her in any way she’s offering? And this is a hell of a lot more than I was expecting. “I guess I’m not sure exactly what that entails. What the rules are. How far to go.”
“I- I don’t know.” She bites at her lip. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Flirted? You mean like how you ripped me a new one at that bar the first night we met?”
She quirks her lips, the slightest hint of pink spreading across her cheeks. “I said I was sorry about that.”
“And I said I deserved it.”
She grins, glancing down to hide her face. “Can you imagine if I’d taken you up on your offer? I would have been a little more than just surprised the next day seeing you in that conference room.”
My dick springs to attention at her mention of coming back to my place, but I keep it at bay. A kid’s birthday party is not the time. “Do you ever do that with guys? A one night stand?”
“No,” she says, picking up the paintbrush herself to continue the butterfly. “I wait till at least a few dates in. But I’ve been so busy sin
ce starting my business, there’s been no time for dating.” She pauses, looking up at me. “What about you?”
I take the brush from her, slipping my fingers around her wrist to steady her hand. “You wouldn’t believe me if I said I was an angel, would you?”
“No,” she smirks.
“I haven’t slept with anyone since I met you.” Sure, I’ve had my fair share of hookups in the past, even a few short-lived girlfriends, but no one that’s ever had this kind of impact on me, no one I think about all the time, no one I want more with… the way I do with her.
“You mean since you got engaged.”
“No, I mean since I met you.”
I watch her hazel eyes widen at my serious tone. Earlier today, I would have left it at that. But she said she wanted to flirt, so I’ll deliver what she asked for. “You’re the only one I want.”
I give her a moment to process my words, concentrating on finishing up the artwork on her hand, and nearly mess the whole thing up when I hear her say, “That’s what you said in my dream. That you want me.”
“Your dream?” I rack my brain, trying to remember. “The one from the day your parents showed up?”
She nods, glancing around at the partygoers, but no one’s paying us any attention. “Yes.”
“So your subconscious knew it even then? You never told me exactly what happened.”
“You were on top of me,” she murmurs, “then inside me. I could feel you. It was so real.” I pause in my painting, watching as her face transforms into that of a seductress, eyes going heavy-lidded, gaze filled with a remembered desire. I lean forward to hear her better as she continues in a low, hypnotic voice, “How warm your skin was, how it felt to be pressed into the mattress by you, how you looked at me…”
Is it the same way I’m looking at her now? Because there’s no way I can keep every bit of longing for her contained hearing her speak like this to me. “Are you sure you don’t flirt regularly? Because you seem like a pro.” Not that this is really flirting. More like… telling the unfiltered truth.
She gives a small smile, blushing prettily.
“What I want to know is what you did after waking up.”
“W-what?” Her eyes widen almost comically. Oh, I got her.
“That dream affected you, didn’t it?” If it was anything like the dreams I have about her, it had to have. “What did you do when you woke?”
Her gaze flicks rapidly over my face, her continued silence speaking volumes until the barest whisper emits from her. “I touched myself.”
I close my eyes, blocking out the sounds of shrieking kids, of their parent’s conversations, even of the ever present traffic just on the other side of the garden wall. Anything to concentrate further on her words. “Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I- I didn’t finish. I felt… guilty.”
I set the paintbrush down again, abandoning the nearly finished butterfly. “You never, ever have to feel guilty about that. I want you to do it. Do you know how many times I’ve jacked off to thoughts of you?”
I half expect her to recoil at my blunt statement, but she keeps her hand in mine, curling her fingers around my wrist. “You have?”
I nod, loving the sweet sting of her nails pressing into the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.
“What do you think about?” she asks, like she can’t help herself.
“You really want to know?”
She nods, an eager light in her gaze.
“You. Underneath me. Above me. On all fours. On your knees. Spread out wide for me to feast on. Take your pick.”
Her breaths speed up. “I shouldn’t have asked that, should I?”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t get the image of you doing those things out of my head now.”
“And do you like it?”
She swallows, closing her eyes as she nods once more.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re ready to cut the cake,” the woman from before says, approaching us. I suspect if I wasn’t here, she wouldn’t be so gracious.
Mackenzie nearly falls out of her seat as she startles, standing quickly, her chair tumbling behind her.
I move to steady her, but she’s already halfway toward her client, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. “Let’s go gather everyone, shall we?” she says brightly, no hint of our conversation on her face.
She motions for the woman to walk ahead of her and glances back once at me, her expression unreadable. I saw what was there earlier, though.
And I want it again.
Chapter Fifteen
Mackenzie
I stare down at the message on my iPhone, chewing at my lip as I debate what to do.
Gabriel: Movie night at my place tonight? Since we’re friends and all.
On the one hand, it’s a perfectly reasonable suggestion by a friend. I’ve watched movies at Diana’s before. And back when I actually socialized before work consumed my life, I did at other friend’s apartments too.
But this… this is different. And he knows it.
After our conversation at the face painting booth, which admittedly got way out of hand, it’s a little harder to pretend we’re only friends. Not when I’m having sex dreams about him and he’s jacking off to me.
My cheeks heat just remembering his intense expression as he’d told me that. The way my belly had jumped. The instant dampness between my thighs.
“Don’t you ever take a day off?”
I shove my phone in my desk drawer as Diana steps into my office, a smirk on her face.
“Do you?” I counter with.
“Touche,” she laughs, taking a seat in one of the paisley chairs in front of me. “Are you busy?”
“Not especially.” I’m supposed to be creating a final invoice for the additional work on Danielle’s party yesterday. She didn’t have to pay the face painter, but I’m damn well charging her a comparable cost for what Gabriel did for her.
“I still can’t believe how amazing this office looks,” she says, gazing around.
“I know.” It’s part of the reason I’m here even more now, besides the extra business Gabriel’s brought me. It’s so pretty in here. And in my secret heart of hearts, being here reminds me of him.
“Seriously, though. You’re here all the time.” She tilts her head in exasperated affection, flipping her long hair back over her shoulder. “But thanks to you moving your office here, I at least finally have the money to hire someone part-time to cover the register on weekday mornings. You should do the same. So you can breathe some. Take a break.”
“I’m not here all the time.”
She gives me a level look. “Being out with a client doesn’t count.”
“I’m going over to a friend’s house tonight,” I tell her, picking up the papers in front of me to shuffle them around. Well, I guess I made my decision then.
“Really?” she asks, her dark brows popping up. “Is it one of your old friends from your last job?”
“Um, no.”
“Then who?”
Who is she, the friend police? “Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re being evasive,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“It’s Gabriel,” I shrug. “Happy?”
“Your client? Like with him and his fiancee?”
“Just him.” I pull up my accounting software on my computer, finally ready to make that invoice.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? He’s engaged.”
“It’s fine.” I’ll go over and watch a movie, no big deal. We’re two adults. We can control ourselves.
Obviously.
“And his fiancee doesn’t mind?”
She’s right to be wary. She has to have seen us together. How comfortable we are with one another. The subtle flirting. The unspoken tension. I wouldn’t trust a woman he hung out with if he did the kinds of things for her that he does for me.
But he only wants me. He said so himself. A r
ush of gooey warmth runs through me at the reminder.
“Mackenzie?”
What was the question again? “Oh, um, Serena’s fine with it. Encourages it in fact.”
Not a lie technically. She wants me to handle everything and I’m including this under that umbrella of responsibility.
Geez, no wonder Diana’s suspicious.
“Oh, okay,” she says, appearing surprised. “What’re you going to watch?”
Just Gabriel most likely. The ocean blue of his eyes. The way his biceps pop when he wears a polo. And I may have checked out his ass one or two times already, especially during that tux fitting. “I’m not sure. Probably some action flick. You know how guys are.”
She uncrosses her arms, long hair swinging forward over her shoulder. “He’s the guy from the bar, right? From a few weeks ago?”
She’s never asked, so I never brought it up, hesitant to open that can of worms. Diana’s usually not one to meddle in private things, though.
“That was a misunderstanding.”
She picks at her fingernails, dirt visible beneath the white crescents. She must have been planting something. “He paid to have your office redone.”
“Yes.”
“He took you and your parents out to dinner.”
I nod. She must have overheard that from her spot at the register.
“He made sure you were taken care of when you were sick. I saw how worried he was.”
I find myself shrinking into my seat more and more with each thing she states. Not that they’re accusations, but they weigh heavy on me all the same. “Those are all things a friend would do.”
She nods in response, looking me in the eye. “Just be careful, okay?”
I’m silent as she stands and makes her way back to the main floor of the flower shop to greet someone as the bell dings over the door. I appreciate her concern, I really do. And from her point of view, I deserve the censure.
But she doesn’t know the whole story.
The engagement may be a farce, but what’s burgeoning between me and Gabriel?
That’s all real.
“Miss Sweet.” The liveried doorman to Gabriel’s building holds the door open for me and I cautiously walk through, staring at him. How does he know who I am?
Resisting the Billionaire Page 14
