His Unlikely Lover (Unwanted #3)

by Natasha Anders

  “Okay,” he heard her say, the word soft and uncertain.

  “Good night.”

  “’Night.” Her response was faint.

  He stood there for another few seconds before shaking his head and striding toward her bedroom door, collecting his jacket along the way. He was in his own room a few moments later and went straight to the adjoining door, knocking once before opening it. Her room was still empty and he heard the sound of running water coming from the en suite.

  He shed his shirt and jacket hurriedly and took less care putting them away than usual. He wanted to be in bed with the lights out when she returned. He didn’t want to see her or speak to her again tonight. Everything would be back to normal in the bright light of day. It had to be . . .

  He had stripped down to his trousers by the time she stepped back into her room, and the shadow her small figure cast on her bedroom wall startled him into pausing while unbuttoning his fly. His hands dropped to hang loosely at his sides. He was facing the adjoining door; his intention had been to keep an eye on her room in case she needed him, but her abrupt reappearance had caught him off guard.

  She froze when she saw him and her eyes dropped to his naked chest. He swallowed audibly as her eyes tracked over his body . . . God, he could feel her gaze brushing across his skin like a brand.

  “Don’t.” The word jerked from him involuntarily.

  “I can’t not . . . ,” she said hoarsely, taking a small step toward him and then another and another still. He was helpless to stop her and watched her approach until she stood right in front of him. A mere handsbreadth away from him, so close he could feel her heat being absorbed into his naked skin.

  “Bobbi.” He tried to instill some sense of warning in his voice, but her name on his lips sounded like a plea. His hands clenched into fists as he fought his desire to touch her.

  “You’re gorgeous,” she whispered in a reverent voice. He watched fascinatedly as she lifted a hand, and in that moment felt absolutely powerless to stop her from touching him. His breath sawed from his lungs in an uneven whoosh as the silky pads of her fingertips traced delicately from the outer edge of his left clavicle straight across to the other end of his right clavicle. Her fingers drifted down to his shoulder before scorching their way over his chest, skimming over his flat nipple in the process. He shuddered and the sound that was torn from his throat was halfway between a long groan and a sigh. The noise startled her into jerking her hand away and she peered up at him uncertainly. He almost howled in disappointment, aching to have her hand back on his skin, but not daring to touch her for fear that he’d be unable to stop until he had her naked and writhing beneath him.

  Her luminous amber eyes searched his sherry-colored ones for an infinite amount of time while he tried to regulate his uneven breathing. He had no idea what she saw because she seemed to nod to herself before returning to the task at hand. Her fingertips began their agonizing exploration again and his knees nearly buckled in response as her hands fluttered to the center of his chest, exploring the texture of the fine hairs sprinkled there before following the trail down . . . past the taut ripples of his abdomen, tracing the faint circle of hair around his belly button before resuming the path even further down . . .

  “No.” Unfortunately, reason reasserted itself when he discerned exactly where she was headed. He caught her hand just before it reached the fly of his trousers. He was so damned hard he was straining against his zipper and eagerly seeking her delicate touch.

  “Gabe.” This time she was the one pleading.

  “Go to bed, Runt, before we do something . . . ill-advised.” He used the nickname deliberately, wanting to shock them both out of this erotic haze and it worked—too well. He watched her flinch and pale and steeled himself against the pain he had caused her with his deliberate callousness. She yanked her hand from his grasp and reeled away from him.

  She turned and fled, slamming the adjoining door shut and leaving a turned-on, frustrated, and confused Gabe standing in the middle of his room with one hand absently rubbing at the dull ache in the center of his chest.

  He felt like a man who had just lost his best friend.

  After a restless night, Bobbi felt ill-equipped to face Gabe the following morning. She had been up for hours and had listened to the house come alive outside her door. It was the first week of January, so the guests who had opted to stay the night awoke to a bright, beautiful summer morning. The plan was to have a buffet breakfast and a poolside braai for lunch, and as she listened to her friends’ cheerful chatter when they walked by her closed bedroom door all she wanted to do was curl under the nearest rock and die.

  She still didn’t know what on earth had possessed her to touch him the way she had. Her only excuse was that there had been just enough alcohol left in her system to lower her inhibitions and give in to the overwhelming temptation to caress him. That was most certainly the flimsy explanation she would offer when she summoned up the guts to talk to him about it.

  Bobbi knew that Gabe had vacated his room at seven thirty; she had listened to the quiet rustling coming from the other side of the wall as he had showered and dressed. The tension that had taken up residence in her neck and shoulders had only fled after she’d heard his bedroom door open and then close again. She had held her breath for what seemed like an eternity when his quiet footsteps had halted for a brief moment outside her door before moving on.

  She had tried to formulate a plan of action—an emergency blueprint on how to get through this day and the ones to follow. It wouldn’t be easy—but she stood to lose too much if she messed up these next crucial days. She had to weigh the cost of her friendship with Gabe against the fresh anguish she felt every time he treated her with such casual, impersonal affection. Years of the same had taken its toll and after last night, she knew that she couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t stand on the sidelines and watch as every leggy blonde who crossed his path snagged his attention while she never warranted a second glance.

  And really, why would he look at her? She was good old Bobbi, his surrogate sister, the girl who had tagged along behind him and his friends when he was a boy. The girl who had made a pest of herself and who would never outgrow the condescending nickname Gabe and her brothers had bestowed upon her.

  It was after ten before she summoned up the courage to leave her room and make her way down to the pool. Only the De Luccis’ most intimate group of friends remained: the Palmers—Rick, Lisa, Bryce, Bronwyn, and their toddlers—and Max Kinsley, Rosalie De Lucci, Gabe, and Bobbi. Everybody was already gathered beside the pool, either lounging in the sun or splashing about in the water.

  Theresa, who was feeding her fourteen-month-old daughter at the patio table, was the first to spot her.

  “Bobbi,” she called with a warm smile. “Good morning. How are you feeling?” Bobbi cringed when Theresa’s voice drew everybody else’s attention and a multitude of good-natured salutations came her way. She managed a sickly grin and waved back in everybody’s general direction—almost preternaturally aware of Gabe, who was sitting on one of the loungers wearing nothing but board shorts and a pair of sunglasses. His superb body was bronzed and toned, with not a spare bit of flesh anywhere to be seen; he was lean and fit and perfectly proportioned. A quick glance his way confirmed that he was studying her but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, not with those mirrored sunglasses hiding his striking eyes from her. He had a proud nose, just slightly too long but it went beautifully with his bluntly defined cheekbones, which in turn slotted into his narrow, craggy face magnificently. All of that, combined with his thin bow-shaped upper lip and the full sensuous curve of his lower lip, made for an unconventionally handsome man. His dark brown hair, glinting with the faintest hints of auburn beneath the morning sun, was always conservatively cut and brushed and lent him a sophisticated air that went well with his reserved personality.

  He was her complete opposite in every way, and she knew that he would never belong to her.
They were friends who came from similar backgrounds but occupied totally different worlds. As she joined Theresa and Lily at the patio table, she knew that it was time to let the fantasy of any kind of romantic involvement with Gabriel Braddock go—and it broke her heart.

  “Are you okay?” Theresa whispered, and knowing that Theresa was asking about more than her physical condition, Bobbi shook her head. She reached for Lily’s chubby little hand and lifted it to her mouth for a kiss, disguising the flash of tears in her eyes.

  “Oh Bobbi . . . ,” Theresa murmured, trying to hide the distress on her face. “I’m so sorry.”

  Lisa ambled over to the table and grinned at them, but the smile faded immediately when she discerned something was wrong.

  “What’s up?” she asked in concern, as she sat down next to Bobbi.

  “We can talk about it later. Tomorrow maybe, at our girls’ night?” Theresa said, the mere suggestion telling Bobbi that the other woman was aware of how close to the proverbial edge Bobbi was. They usually had their girls’ nights on a Saturday but rescheduled to Sunday because of the party. Lisa nodded but remained by Bobbi’s side, seeming to sense how much her friend needed the emotional bolstering. She started chatting about the party and her wry observations about some of the guests soon had Theresa in stitches and even coaxed a smile or two from Bobbi.

  She tried not to notice that Rosalie De Lucci was in the lounger next to Gabe’s, tried to ignore the way he’d occasionally lean over to say something to the bikini-clad woman, and tried not to cringe when he laughed at something the woman had said. But all the not noticing was taking an emotional toll on her and she excused herself with a bright, completely fake smile about an hour later—saying she needed another nap before lunch. It was obvious that neither Theresa nor her cousin believed her, but they let her go.

  Gabe surreptitiously watched Bobbi leave. She hadn’t so much as glanced at him this morning, while it had been all he could do not to openly study her. She had been wearing the tiniest black bikini he’d ever seen. Nothing fancy, just a simple string bikini that sent his blood pressure soaring and made him infinitely grateful that his board shorts were baggy. It clung to her perfect body in all the right places, and he had found himself fantasizing about untying the bows at her shoulders to reveal those sweet, pert breasts to his gaze.

  God, so much for hoping things would be back to normal this morning.

  She had spent an hour talking to Theresa and Lisa as if everything was perfect in her world, while he felt like his own life had just taken the turn into crazy town. It bothered him that she hadn’t touched the buffet laid out in the chafing dishes on the other side of the pool. She needed to eat and stay hydrated. She hadn’t even had a glass of juice.

  His conflicting desires to take care of her or throw her on the nearest flat surface and bury himself in her were confusing to say the least, and he felt like he had lost his mind somewhere between last night and this morning. He slowly became aware of Rosalie De Lucci leaning toward him and recognized that the high note, which had entered her melodic voice, signified a question. He had been so absorbed by his thoughts that he hadn’t heard a word of what she’d been saying.

  “Pardon me?” he prompted, focusing his attention back on the lovely woman lounging beside him.

  “I asked if you were okay? You seemed preoccupied.”

  “I’m fine . . .” He nodded, glad that the sunglasses hid the lie in his eyes. He was so far from fine it was ridiculous. He wasn’t sure if he should talk to Bobbi about what had happened the night before or if he should leave it alone. This situation didn’t lend itself to any of the usual precedents. Any other woman and he would have known how to deal with the situation—acknowledge the attraction and do something about it. Despite knowing Bobbi better than most other people, he didn’t know her as a sexual being and it terrified him that he was suddenly so acutely aware of everything that made her female and desirable.

  Sandro and Rick had headed toward the grill and were getting the fire started for the braai. Bryce and Max drifted over to the fire, as men tended to do at barbecues the world over, and a lively conversation about cricket started up before Sandro deftly diverted the conversation to his favorite sport and the men began to argue about the day’s forthcoming Italian Premier League football matches. Gabe made his excuses to Rosalie, who had flipped over onto her stomach and seemed to be snoozing beneath the warm sun, and pushed himself off the lounger to join the men—thinking that the distraction would be exactly what he needed. But after standing there for a few minutes, watching Sandro stoke the fire while Rick, his deaf brother, Bryce, and Max were engaged in a half-spoken, half-signed conversation about exactly how hot the coals should be before the meat went on the grill, Gabe found himself wandering away from the intense huddle of nouveau cavemen and toward the table where the women—who had been joined by Bronwyn—were sitting. They all looked up at the same time at his approach, making him wonder uncomfortably if they’d been talking about him. He briefly considered the notion that Bobbi may have confided in them about the night before but dismissed it almost immediately. Bobbi wasn’t the type of female who had girly chats with other women about man-related problems.

  “Hey.” He nodded casually and moved to sit down in one of the free chairs. The strained silence that greeted him made him reconsider his former opinion—they’d definitely been talking about him and he could feel a flush stain his cheekbones.

  “Gabe,” Bronwyn greeted with a regal nod.

  “Great party last night, Theresa.” He canted his beer bottle toward the pretty redhead and she smiled her thanks. The usually gregarious group remained unusually quiet and Gabe forged ahead uncomfortably. “Do you think . . . uh, Bobbi will be down again? For lunch, I mean. Has she indicated that she’ll be down for lunch?”

  “She’s not feeling up to company after last night,” Theresa said in a gentle voice that seemed to be brimming with accusation and Gabe tensed, expecting censure. “You know . . . after drinking too much? The noise level out here was too much for her to deal with.”

  He slowly and silently exhaled the breath he’d been holding. His own guilty conscience was making his imagination run riot . . . or maybe not? Theresa couldn’t seem to meet his eyes and that pissed him off. He hadn’t done anything to warrant being treated like a damned sex offender.

  “I’ll go up and check on her,” he mumbled, happy for a reason to leave the strained company and the excuse to go up and see Bobbi. He leapt to his feet, spilling some of his beer in the process, and rushed inside, not needing to look back to know that the women were watching his ignoble retreat.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The sharp knock on her door left no doubt in Bobbi’s mind as to whom was on the other side of the wooden barrier. She sucked in a deep, calming breath before walking over to open the door.

  The first thing she noticed was that he had thankfully put on a pristine white T-shirt before coming to her door and had removed the sunglasses. It didn’t stop him from still looking incredible though, especially since his skin had bronzed a shade darker in the morning sun and contrasted attractively with the crisp whiteness of his shirt. She forced that thought from her mind and smiled up at him with just the right amount of friendliness and apology.

  “Gabe,” she exclaimed, sounding absolutely thrilled to see him. “I was just coming down to have a chat with you.” She turned her back and walked back into her room, glancing over her shoulder to be sure he followed her inside. He was very careful to leave the door slightly ajar, probably terrified that she’d attack him again. She successfully hid her grimace by heading for the comfortably overstuffed pair of chairs that were situated beside a huge picture window overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and sank down into one, curling her legs and dragging her feet up under her butt, trying to keep her posture as relaxed and nonconfrontational as possible. He warily sat down in the second chair, which was angled to face hers.

  Unlike Bobbi he seemed tense, both feet wer
e braced on the floor, giving him the appearance of someone who would bolt at the slightest provocation, and his hands were precisely placed on the armrests of the chairs with his fingers curled around the edges. He couldn’t seem to meet her eyes, which just about broke her heart.

  “I’m sorry about last night.” She tried for casual but the words were soft, filled with regret, and the tiniest bit wistful. His throat worked as he swallowed.

  “Yeah? Which part?” That threw her somewhat. She hadn’t expected him to ask for specifics.

  “All of it. Getting drunk, kissing you . . . touching you.” She watched as his fingers clenched the armrests and brought her regard back up to his face. He had his eyes averted and was staring unseeingly out at the horizon, where the shimmering cobalt-blue ocean blended seamlessly with the azure blue of the sky.

  “Why did you do it?” He asked, his voice gruff, and she blinked. This wasn’t the way she had pictured this conversation going at all. Gabe was supposed to gratefully latch on to the excuse to maintain the status quo of their friendship. He wasn’t supposed to ask speculative and penetrating questions.

  “What?” She stalled for time, hoping to give him the chance to withdraw the question when he figured out that he was just drawing out the uncomfortable situation longer than was necessary.

  “I asked why you did it?” He repeated, leaning forward to bring his sharp gaze onto her face and watching her every reaction with a maddeningly impersonal expression.

  “Why did I get drunk?” She deliberately misunderstood, hoping again that he would grab onto this avenue of escape. There was a long pause while he continued to study her with those eyes that missed nothing. She kept her friendly smile pasted to her face but was gradually aware with each passing second how very fake it must look to this man who knew her so well.