"It's there," she said, pointing to her inner thigh. "Must have gotten it when I was sitting on the railing."
His gaze flew to hers. Eyes locked and Gabe remembered her hurt, the utter loneliness he'd felt yesterday without her teasing, her bright smiles. It felt as if it had been a week instead of a few hours since he'd looked into those expressive blue eyes.
Then she arched a brow, cynical and bitter, and Gabe knew again the damage he'd done. He focused on the red skin surrounding the splinter and told himself he could do this without getting carried away. He leaned over, but the lack of light made it hard to see. He reached out and pulled the oil lamp closer, and in the back of his mind, he wished he'd had electricity run into the house. He tried again and she winced, inhaling sharply.
"I can't see it well enough to get it." Without thought, he shifted her so her legs dangled off the bed, then he slid to the floor, between her knees, bracing his arm and torso on the mattress before drawing her calf across his bent knee. He peered, catching her skin between thumb and forefinger and plucking at the sliver of wood. She hissed and tensed and he glanced up. She was propped on her elbows, a bland look on her face. Then his gaze slid down to where the robe parted, exposing the cream lace panties shielding the darkness of her. He ground his teeth and tried again for the splinter. In seconds, he held it up for her approval, then tossed the tweezers onto the bed, immediately reaching for the bottle of antiseptic and balls of cotton.
"I can do that." She tried to take it.
He pushed her hand away and blotted the wound. A tiny shriek worked in her throat, her muscles flexing, and Gabe instinctively blew on the area.
"Better?"
She nodded shakily. "Thank you."
If Gabe was aware of his position before, now it was intensified. He let his gaze linger, hunger over her as he smoothed his hand up her bare leg.
She scooted back. "What are you doing?"
He shrugged. "Checking for more splinters."
His little half-smile made her weak for more. "There aren't any."
But he couldn't resist the temptation of her skin and pressed his mouth against her inner thigh. Calli stiffened, her body betraying her. An instant later, his tongue slicked over the same spot, climbing higher, closer to the heat of her. His breath bathed her, sinking into her body as if he'd sunk a finger inside. A soft sound worked in her throat, and for a heartbeat she closed her eyes and absorbed. Then suddenly she scrambled back, curling her legs in and covering herself.
"No." She kept shaking her head as if she was trying to convince herself. "I'm not falling for this again, Gabe," she said with a steely look at him. "I'm not your toy and…"
"And what?" he said, standing.
She lurched off the bed, belting her robe tightly. "And nothing is going to happen here!"
"What did you think was going to happen?"
She scoffed, tossing her hair back with a shake of her head. "How about you kissing me and touching me, then—" her voice fractured "—you hurting me." She turned her back on him, bracing her palms on the dresser.
"Calli, I—"
"What, Gabriel? What will you say to me this time? That you're sorry. No. I don't think so. That you didn't meant it? Oh, I know you did. You've made it painfully clear that the door is locked and no one has the key." He took a step closer and she straightened, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Her eyes rapidly filled with tears. "My lord, you make it so hard to be your friend."
"You make it too easy."
She licked her lips. "Is that so bad?"
He looked at the floor, his thumbs hooked in his pants pockets. "I haven't had many."
He doesn't trust her friendship, she realized. He doesn't see why anyone would want to be his friend. She'd seen how people in the grocery store treated him. He was probably waiting for her to act the same way. Deliberately, she tried for patience. "I told you when I came here that I didn't expect anything from you. Well, now I do."
He met her gaze in the mirror, a shock of dark hair spilling over one eye. He was devastating to look at, she thought, taut brown muscles, the dangerous signature of artwork on his arms, the gold earring. He took her breath away every time she met his pale green gaze.
"I'm asking you to forget what you think I want and just … be Gabriel. I don't need to know the gory details of your past if you don't want to offer them. They don't matter right now, this minute."
"They will."
"Stop looking for trouble!" she raged. "And before you get all macho on me—" She put up a hand. "I don't want to know how many women you've had in this room."
"None."
"Well, then, in that bed."
"Never." He advanced slowly and awareness sank through her body.
"Oh, hell, on this dresser," she practically yelled.
He stopped directly behind her, his breath, his words, brushing her neck. "Just you."
She stared defiantly at his reflection. "You tried that and failed."
"Did I?" he growled, and his reasons for pushing her away faded to the fierce longing to touch her, smell her … feel her.
He was up against her, his front to her back and Calli couldn't move as his breath fanned her ear, his words so rough with urgency she barely heard them.
"I need to hold you, Calli."
It sounded like a desperate plea dragged from the darkness. Then without waiting for her response, his arms slowly wrapped around her, one across her breasts and gripping her shoulder, the other around her waist, his big hand splayed across her hip. The sight in the mirror was startling, his arms, dark and tattooed against the pristine sheen of her cream satin robe, her skin. He simply held her, as if waiting for her to shove him away, patient, timeless.
This is Gabriel, she thought. She was aware of him, every nuance, the shadow of his beard against her hair, his bare chest, sleek and hairless, his snug jeans, the top button carelessly left undone, the strength of his thighs laying along the length of hers. And the heat between them. He was like a sleek panther on the prowl, scenting her, content, yet tense, prepared to spring. Calli erupted with sensation, her mind and body vividly alive by the mere thought of his need to touch her. Then his dark head lowered, his lips pressing to her throat. She sighed softly, yet couldn't take her gaze off their reflection. She covered his forearm with her palm, then reached up and dove her fingers into his hair. He groaned and deepened the warm press of his mouth on her throat. So gentle.
She whispered his name and Gabe tipped his head and stared. This was them, he thought. Light and dark, unblemished and the tarnished. He offered danger and uncertainty. She offered forgiveness. And hope. He'd known that so rarely in his life that he wanted it desperately, needed the seduction of Calli. In her own odd little way, she kept the cold somewhere off in the distance. She was suddenly the only spark left to him. A tiny voice in him goaded that he might never get another chance with a woman like this, that even if he wasn't in her league, even if he couldn't understand why she felt about him the way she did, he could accept it, for a little while. Like a gift from a forgetful god. Forget what would happen in a few days. Forget that he might mangle everything because this was unfamiliar. He wanted her with him at any cost. Because with Calli, he felt clean and deserving. My God, he felt redemption in simply touching her.
"Gabriel," she whispered into his thoughts. "I have to go."
He met her gaze in the mirror, his narrowing sharply. "Where?"
"To mass."
His scowl deepened.
She sifted her fingers through his hair, loving that he simply held her. "You know, church? It's Sunday."
It hit him all over again what kind of woman he held in his arms. "Then maybe," he said tipping her head, "you should have something to confess." His tongue outlined the curve of her lips, a slow lush motion as his hand slid down her stomach and covered her softness.
"Oh, Gabriel." She shuddered helplessly and he kissed her again and again. With infinite care, he loosened her sash. Calli caught his hand. "No." The p
rotest sounded mild, even to her.
"Is this what you want? Tell me," he whispered, parting her robe. The cool morning air caressed her skin and he waited, breathing in her scent, giving her a chance to deny him. She didn't. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, and watched his hand slide over her breasts covered in cream lace.
Calli moaned deliciously and closed her eyes.
"No," came the sultry command. "Watch us."
And she did. His broad hands caressed her stomach, slid languorously over her hips to her thighs. His fingers dipped between. And she pressed back against him. Then his touch rose again, the heat of it searing her skin as his fingertips came together and slid downward beneath the edge of her panties. Her breath caught and he touched the downy softness. Calli thought she'd come apart right there. The woman reared by nuns told herself to end this before she surrendered and yet another woman, the one who stepped into a bar seeking risk, said, Here it is, take.
Then he pressed deeper, parting her, stroking the silky flesh of her softness. And Calli's body made her choice.
"You're so hot," he whispered. "And wet." He circled the bead of her sex. Calli's legs threatened to fold. Just the sight of them in the mirror, together, his dark hands intimately on her body, was more erotic than anything she'd ever known. She felt cherished and sexy. And decadent. Then he sank a finger inside her and she bit her lower lip, answering the motion of his thrust. Gabe stroked her, feeling her body grip and flex beneath his touch. He tipped her head and took her mouth, his kiss slow and drugging. His knee insinuated itself between hers from behind and he felt the exquisite heat of her center baring down on him.
He drank in her gasps of pleasure, absorbed her sensations and lived in them. Her body ripened against him like the blossom of forbidden fruit. His hardness thickened, throbbed with each subtle shift of her body as he withdrew and plunged softly.
"Yes," he growled in her ear, watching her body's reflection undulate in an exotic tempo. "Sweet, so sweet."
She gripped his arm strung across her waist, fingertips digging, and Gabriel knew she was close. He wanted to feel it, the hot rush of her pleasure, to know that he gave it to her, could give to her without taking anything back. Even though he ached to open his jeans and push inside her body, take her on the dresser as he'd threatened before. But he wouldn't. She was suddenly so much more important than his own crushing desire.
He met her gaze in the mirror, saw it slide down to where his hand lay and he knew it aroused her, aroused him. His groin pulsed with need and he drove his touch deeper. She cupped his head and drew him to her mouth, her tongue pushing between his lips. She ground against him and he answered the push, experiencing her explosion as if it were his own; her breath rushing along his cheek, her body flexing, straining. She whimpered softly and he stilled, letting her ride the wave of her desire in his arms. It was several moments before she collapsed against him. Then slowly, he wrapped her in his arms. The scent of her, like nothing he'd ever known, filled him, lingered on him. Her breathing calmed and he brushed her hair back from her face.
She groaned and turned in his arms, burying her face in the curve of his shoulder.
"But you—" she said, brushing her fingertips to the band of his jeans.
He caught her wrist, imprisoning it against his chest. "I'm okay."
He wasn't, she could tell. His heart was thundering beneath her palm and Calli lifted her gaze to his. She was incredibly aroused, aching for more of him, but she wasn't going to push the issue. Letting him touch her like that was probably the most unwise thing she'd ever done. It took them across that undefinable line in the sand.
Gabe held her gaze and saw apprehension, a little fear. "Get ready for church, tigress," he said before brushing his mouth across hers. "I'll take you to talk with your god."
Then he left and as he disappeared around the doorjamb, Calli knew that last comment came from Angel. He was already regretting touching her.
* * *
Eight
« ^ »
Gabe didn't think he'd seen any woman blush as much as Calli. But every time she met his gaze on the ride here, her face flamed. When she went into the chapel, looking more like a schoolgirl than a world-class chef, it struck him again how different they really were.
Less than an hour later, people filed out, pausing to chat with the priest, then to stare at him where he leaned against his truck. Gabe simply stared straight ahead, his arms folded over his chest. He felt out of place, unwanted. It was a familiar feeling, which is why he kept to his ranch. Yet with Calli here, this was the most he'd been in town in two years.
She stopped short at the sight of him and his gaze combed her electric-blue tank dress and matching sandals. Sweet. Yet it was the blue headband that made her look untouchably innocent, he decided, forbidden. It drew him to her like a magnet.
"Did you confess your sins?" he asked lowly when she was close, stepping back to open the door.
She smiled up at him, laying a hand on his arm. His surroundings seemed to fade to nothing but those bright blue eyes. "No," she said, her expression deadpan. "I confessed yours." His brows rose before he sent her a narrow look. "Yeah, right."
She could tell he was unsure. "Suit yourself." She shrugged and climbed into the cab. Her gaze followed him as he walked around the front end and slid behind the wheel. "Now where?"
"I have to head back."
She was disappointed. "It's Sunday, Gabe. Even God rested."
"God wasn't in debt." He stared out over the hood of the black truck. "I wish I could—"
"No problem," she said as he pulled into traffic. "It's too congested anyway." He maneuvered around tourists and locals.
"Don't like crowds?"
She shook her head. "Not especially. I don't get nervous or anything, but I lived in crowds for years. The orphanage was like having three hundred roommates, twenty-four hours a day."
They were headed on the road out of town when Gabe suddenly pulled into a parking lot. Calli leaned out to read the sign. It was a restaurant, a tiny, old-fashioned fifties-style diner, pink and white, lots of chrome.
She looked at him. "What are we doing here?"
Gabe shrugged. "I figured I owed you at least one meal you didn't have to cook."
She smiled, feeling something light flutter in her chest, and waited for him to come around to her side. It wasn't a gallant gesture on his part, opening her door like that, but a protective one. She slid from the seat brushing close to him.
He stared down at her for a brief moment, his hand rising toward her cheek, then he seemed to shake himself, drop his arm and step back. What kept pushing him away? she wondered as they walked to the entrance. The instant they were inside, the din lessened, a few dozen pairs of eyes linking him to her. A girl in a pink uniform came up to them, her gaze rudely breaking between Calli and her "date." Calli smiled and inched closer to him, but Gabe only stared at the waitress.
"Would you prefer the counter or—"
"A booth, in the back," Gabe said, and the girl blinked, then grabbed two menus from a rack and immediately spun around. Calli looked up at him, trying not to frown. He really ought to be more courteous, she thought, then felt the weight of his palm on the small of her back, guiding her as they followed the waitress to a secluded booth. Sliding into their seats, Gabe accepted the menu without a glance. Calli relaxed back and studied it carefully. Then she studied him over the edge of plastic-coated paper. He was retreating, she could feel it in the way he stared blankly out the window, the hard cast to his handsome features. She nudged him under the table.
"Loosen up, this was your idea."
"I hate crowds."
She set the menu down and leaned close. A crowd to Gabriel was anyone other than himself, yet it was a common thread. And she was going to pull on it. "Now, why is that?"
He shrugged, muscles flexing with the subtle gesture. She briefly let her gaze wander over his thick arms, the tight white T-shirt she knew was tucked into faded bl
ue jeans, no belt. Heavens, the man was beyond sexy. He reeked of it. Good thing he didn't know it.
"More people to stare, I guess."
"If you don't like them staring, you shouldn't have done that." She nodded to his tattooed arms.
"Did them for me," he said with a strange finality, then arched a brow. "Bother you?"
"No." She let her gaze sweep hotly over him. "I think they're intriguing." She'd had a fantasy since she'd seen them, of outlining them with her fingers, then her tongue. But she wasn't going to tell him that. "Tell me when you got them."
"Maybe later." He inclined his head to the approaching waitress, effectively dismissing the conversation. Gabe sat back and watched her. Dining was an art form for her and she was in her element. She didn't act superior or make outrageous requests, but casual inquiries. And she made the waitress feel comfortable, calling her by her name. She ordered, then she and the woman turned their attention to him, waiting.
"The same," he said, handing back the menu without looking, then shifting in the leather booth and propping his arm on the back of the seat. Calli was so damn beautiful his heart clenched just to look at her. And he wanted to do more than just look.
"Gabriel," she whispered. He still stared.
"Yeah."
"You're staring at me."
"So."
"It's the way you're doing it, that's the problem." His gaze skimmed her body. "I was remembering this morning."
Her cheeks flamed and she adjusted her napkin on her lap. He wondered how many of those blushes he could get from her in one day.
"You are shameless."
He arched a dark brow, his look telling her he knew that. "And so am I."
He leaned across the table and said in a rough whisper, "Baby, you are the furthest thing from shame I have ever met."
Calli blinked. She didn't know exactly how to take that. A compliment or a challenge. She searched his eyes, trying to read beyond his startlingly pale gaze. "You think I'm such a good girl. Like the nuns who raised me, don't you?"
"You are." He needed to touch her. He didn't know what it was about her, exactly—maybe it was the scooping neckline of her tank dress against her skin, or the way she licked her lips, slowly, as if she knew no one would be noticing but him. Yet his desire to tempt her innocence, to hear her soft breathless rush of rapture, was eating him alive. Suddenly he slid out of his seat and into hers. He was close, so close she could see the length of his lashes, the stitching on his T-shirt, feel the pressure of his thigh against hers. He angled his body toward her, hemming her in, his big shoulders shielding even a glimpse of the crowded restaurant.
THE UNLIKELY BODYGUARD Page 12
