She shouldn’t even care about that skank but she did anyway. Rochelle had snagged Anne’s ex-husband long before Anne had even been ejected from the picture. What woman didn’t want to feel confident and sexy when she tried to meet the gaze of the “other woman”? Especially when the “other woman” was the winner?
Anne finally settled on a black skirt that was snug in the hips and swished around her knees to make her legs look thinner. She paired it with a yellow-and-turquoise blouse under a black blazer. She hoped the ensemble made a strong attempt at defining something that might be considered a waist.
The door buzzer echoed throughout her loft. Anne frowned at her reflection and glanced at the clock on her dressing table. Stewart wasn’t supposed to pick her up for another hour.
What if it was Gabriel?
Her heart began thumping erratically as she hurried to the intercom. She was imagining all sorts of Hollywood-worthy endings. Most involved some sort of finale where Gabriel announced his undying love and got down on one knee to propose marriage. Anne wasn’t entirely sure how realistic any of those fantasies were since Gabriel didn’t really strike her as the overly dramatic sort. Still, a girl could wish.
She smashed the call button with the ball of her hand. “Hello?”
“Anne? It’s Stewart. Can I come up?”
“I suppose so. You’re early.” Anne cringed at the disappointment lacing her tone. She was supposed to be working on being happy with Stewart as a potential life mate. “I’ll buzz you in.”
Glancing around at the shambles she’d made of her bedroom, Anne opted just to shut the door. It was funny, but just the other day she’d let Gabriel in here despite the mess. He’d stayed the night and made her breakfast in a bizarre twist of domestic comfort. Now she was feeling off-kilter just imagining Stewart spending a few moments in her foyer.
Anne shoved her feet in her shoes and grabbed her clutch purse. The elevator ding announced Stewart’s arrival and she inhaled deeply. She flung open her front door and pasted a welcoming smile on her face. Where was her excitement? This was starting to feel a lot like dread. She was about to take this man to meet her father and her ex-husband, and she had absolutely no idea if she could count on him to have her back or not.
This is insane.
Stewart stepped out of the elevator with a distinct look of discomfort on his face. He was wearing a tailored suit with a white button-down shirt open at the throat. He fidgeted with his Rolex and cleared his throat. “Uh, you look nice.”
Nice? That’s all you’ve got? Gabriel thinks I’m beautiful. Only a few days ago Anne would’ve have been flying high at Stewart’s lukewarm comment. Not now. “Thank you. You look nice yourself.”
He took a breath to say something else but was distracted by the view from her windows. He nudged his way into her loft as if drawn by some magnetic force. “Wow. That is just gorgeous.” He moved closer to the French doors. “This is prime property, just fabulous. People pay top dollar for this sort of thing…” He seemed to suddenly realize he’d been completely rude. He turned around and stared at Anne for a long minute.
It was shockingly odd. Anne felt as though she had every right to be anxious about Stewart’s behavior, yet she felt perfectly calm. The last few days had provided a sense of clarity she’d lacked all her life.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Stewart’s confession tumbled out in a rush. “I thought I could, but I just can’t.”
Adrenaline shot into Anne’s bloodstream, and she felt almost light-headed with a thousand emotions. There was anger, hurt, and strangely enough, relief. “You mean you can’t pretend to like me just for the chance to manage this building and take control of my real estate holdings. Is that what you’re trying to say?”
He paled several shades, edging out her front door and moving toward the elevator. “You’re a nice girl, Anne. Really.” The look on his face suggested he’d eaten something sour, probably his pride. “I just… I usually… That is to say, I usually date women…”
It all fell into place. The solitary jaunts on the riverwalk, the private table tucked out of the way, and even his ducking out when he saw someone he presumably knew. Anne understood everything now. “You mean you usually date skinny girls, and you’re ashamed to be seen with me in public.” No matter that she felt relief at the way things had turned out. It still hurt to hear those things from someone she’d entertained romantic thoughts about. “I get it.”
He exhaled, looking as though he’d dodged a bullet. “I’m glad. I know people at that club and it’s just”—he seemed to realize where his words were heading—“it’s not fair to either of us really.”
What an asshole. No, wait, Gabriel would call him a manky prat. The thought gave her courage. “You know, I really do get it. I’m just not attracted to you either.”
“I suppose.” She knew the exact moment her words sank in. “Wait, what? You’re not attracted to me?”
Anne smiled sweetly. “I like a man with a little more muscle, Stewart.” She started ushering him toward the elevator. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll let you see yourself out while I finish getting ready for my evening.”
“Uh, okay? Bye, Anne.”
The elevator door closed rather abruptly on a confused-looking Stewart, and Anne heaved a determined sigh. She was going to that damn party, and she was going to look both her father and Jason Paul in the eye and show them she was more than yesterday’s discard.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Gabriel crossed and uncrossed his arms, trying to find his usual comfortable stance. He stole a glance at his watch. It was six thirty on the dot. He wondered if Stewart had shown up to whisk Anne to her posh party.
He grumbled and shifted his feet before glowering at a trio of middle-aged men who wanted into the bar. He perused their IDs and then jerked his head to let them pass. A line of people waiting to get in stretched halfway around the block. He was usually more efficient in keeping the line short. He could see a few people getting disgruntled. In his current mood he wouldn’t even have minded if someone threw a punch.
The ponce had better show her a good time or Gabriel was likely to relocate his bollocks to his throat.
Another group passed inspection and gained entry. Gabriel glanced at his watch again. He wondered how long it would take Stewart and Anne to get to the party. Would Stewart make small talk or did the two of them actually have deep discussions? What if the ponce was smarter than Gabriel gave him credit for and he decided to make a move on Anne? What if he cupped her face and kissed her lips as if he had the right? As if there was any world in which Gabriel would allow the no-good wanker to touch Anne.
“Uh, mister?”
Two thirty-something women were backing away, eyeing Gabriel as though he were about to explode. It was a good instinct because he was about to lose his bloody mind. He turned on his heel and walked back into the bar amid a chorus of discontented shouts. The door slammed shut behind him, and he stood in the cool, dim interior of the entryway. An entryway where he and Anne had made love up against the wall only the night before.
He stabbed his fingers through his hair and shut his eyes against the memory of her sweetly yielding flesh. No woman would ever be that perfect for him again. She was it. She was his one and only, and he’d buggered the whole thing because he couldn’t let go of one bloody memory.
Gabriel felt Connor’s approach the same way he would that of a storm. “This is no time to lose your shit,” Connor rumbled.
“I know, mate. I’m sorry.” Gabriel inhaled and exhaled deliberately. “I’ll head back outside and get it sorted right now.”
“Forget the customers.” Connor lifted one eyebrow. “Alex asked Emory to handle the bar so he can take the room. Jessa will take the tables, and I’ve got the door.”
“What, you think I’ve lost the plot or something?” Gabriel didn’t even cringe at the thick accent coating his words. He was far beyond that. “You think I’m some plonker who can’t
even do his job so you’re firing me? That it?”
“No. That’s not what I think at all.” Connor’s tone was patient. “Jessa got a text from Anne. The”—Connor’s slow smile threw Gabriel completely off guard—“ponce, I believe you and Alex call him, stood her up. She’s headed to the party all by herself, and Jessa doesn’t like it.” His smile disappeared. “When something makes my wife unhappy, I fix it.” He seemed to consider this pronouncement. “Within reason. Besides, I get the sense you have a reason to dislike this particular situation as well.”
He was going to rip out that bastard’s throat and strangle him with it.
Gabriel didn’t pause to ponder the logistics of his violent urges, he only knew he agreed with Jessa wholeheartedly. There was no world in which Anne should have to face her father and her ex-husband all on her own. Not when Gabriel could stand by her side.
“Time to go upstairs and change, don’t you think?” Connor prodded.
“Absobloodylutely.” Gabriel didn’t wait around; he strode toward the back of the bar and his apartment. If he was lucky, his dress clothes still fit.
* * *
Anne pasted a smile on her face and walked into the club as though she hadn’t a care in the world. The circular room Paul and Rochelle had reserved sported windows overlooking the twilight-darkened golf course. A buffet had been set up at one end, and there were clusters of tables throughout the room. Half a dozen couples were swaying on the dance floor to the strains of a waltz played by the string quartet tucked into a corner.
People were staring, but Anne couldn’t be altogether certain why. She didn’t come around the club much anymore. Jessa had cut ties with their old friends long before Anne had, but without Jessa the atmosphere had been less than chummy. Anne could feel the gazes of her former brunch group boring holes into her back. She refused to turn and acknowledge their rude stares. She murmured polite niceties to her father’s elderly partners and even exchanged a superficial hello with her father’s secretary.
“Dating someone new, my ass.” Paul’s sarcastic tone didn’t carry any farther than the two of them.
Anne turned to face him. His sneer was still intimidating. She wondered if it always would be. He looked the same. He was the quintessential preppy academic type complete with expensive gold-rimmed glasses and a custom-made suit. Somehow none of that appealed to her anymore. After being in Gabriel’s company, she couldn’t help but feel like Paul was a boy playing at being a man and failing miserably.
She took a deep breath to fortify herself. “Actually, I am dating someone.”
“So where is he?”
“Working.” Anne wrapped herself in the memory of Gabriel’s quiet presence. “He’s a bouncer in a bar downtown.”
“A bouncer.” Paul snorted. “You can’t be serious.”
“Totally serious.”
“Priceless.” Paul turned and held out his arm as Rochelle approached. “Darling you’ll never guess what Anne was just telling me.”
“No, I’ll never guess,” Rochelle agreed.
Anne gazed at the woman who had been her nemesis for so long. Rochelle’s willowy body was sandwiched into a dress that looked at least two sizes too small. Her thick dark hair was swept up into a perfect chignon, and her blue eyes were carefully outlined in makeup. She looked pinched. Maybe she couldn’t breathe in her dress? Or maybe it was all the Botox and plastic surgery she used to keep herself looking twenty-one. Anne didn’t know and was shocked to discover that she no longer cared.
A cruel smile twisted the corner of Paul’s mouth. “Anne here has just been trying to convince me that she’s dating some bouncer who works in a bar downtown.”
Rochelle opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead she gaped at something just over Anne’s left shoulder.
“Sorry I’m late, love. I got caught up at work.” Gabriel’s warm baritone sent shivers down her spine just before his arm slid possessively around her shoulders. He brushed a kiss over her cheek and turned to give Paul and Rochelle a dismissive once-over.
Gabriel looked like a fantasy come to life. He was wearing a designer suit. The crisp black had subtle pinstripes that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the athletic taper of his hips. Diamond cuff links winked at his wrists, and he wore black rings on his middle fingers. His hair was gently tousled as if he’d only just run his fingers through it after his shower and shave. The deep blue of his dress shirt made his eyes seem that much more intense. He looked like a million bucks of alpha male utterly comfortable in whatever environment he chose to exist in.
He smiled at her, and every bit of Anne’s skin tingled in awareness. She had to clamp her legs together beneath her skirt to stifle the throbbing at her core. She wondered if she was drooling.
Anne found his hand and gave it a squeeze. “We were just talking about you.” She wondered if Paul’s face would ever unfreeze or if he’d had a few too many Botox treatments himself.
“I don’t think we’ve met.” Gabriel held out his hand, forcing Paul to react. “I’m Gabriel Hawkins.”
“Is that right?” Paul’s nostrils flared, and he gave Anne a suspicious glance. He gingerly took the offered hand and shook it as though he were afraid to catch something. “And where are you from?”
“I’m originally from England. I’ve been in the States just over a year now.” Gabriel smiled down at Anne. “I’m quite content.”
“Your accent is rather muddled, isn’t it? Wonder why that is. Although I can’t imagine why one would travel halfway across the world to work in a bar anyway.” Paul’s gaze narrowed, and Anne wondered what he was up to. He swung around as though searching for someone. “My colleague is from England. Isn’t it ironic to have two Brits here this evening?”
Paul waved to a gentleman in his fifties. Anne stiffened when she realized what Paul was trying to do. He obviously believed Gabriel wasn’t who he said he was and had found some way to prove it. Why did he have to be so mean? Gabriel could’ve been a dishwasher, and Anne wouldn’t have cared. He treated her better than anyone else ever had. He made her feel beautiful and cherished. And there was no way she would let Paul try to make a fool out of Gabriel.
Gabriel didn’t know what had changed, only that something had shifted. Anne was tense beside him, her body rigid wherever it touched his. He’d called her husband a manky prat the night before. He’d been wrong. The bastard was a first-rate arsehole.
“John!” Paul was waving an older gentleman in their direction. “There’s someone here you might enjoy meeting.”
If someone had Googled “what a British professor looks like,” Gabriel was pretty sure an image of this bloke would pop up first. His thick steel-gray hair was close-cropped and his matching beard neatly trimmed. He wore an immaculate brown tweed suit with shoes so shiny they’d probably been spit shined. He gazed at Paul with scholarly interest through horn-rimmed glasses.
“Dr. Harris, I’d like you to meet Gabriel Hawkins.” Paul’s lips turned up in the semblance of a smile though a smirk remained in his eyes. “Apparently he’s also a Brit working here in the United States.” Paul turned to Gabriel. “Where did you say you’re from?”
“Hawkins, is it?” The professor peered at Gabriel and extended his hand.
Gabriel took the man’s manicured hand in his own rough palm, wondering why the chap was staring as though they were already acquaintances. Surely the old man couldn’t be that homesick.
“You’re from Cambridgeshire, I’d think.” Dr. Harris’s smile grew wide. “You are the spitting image of your father. Michael and I spent several years at university together.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I cannot place you. No slight intended I assure you.” Gabriel suppressed the urge to laugh. Of all the coincidences in the world, this one had shocked Paul right out of his designer socks. “It has been over a year since I’ve been back to Huntingdon to see my parents.”
“Yes.” Dr. Harris gave a somber nod. “I live in Cambridge, but I di
d hear of the unfortunate incident.”
Cold dread slid down Gabriel’s spine. Of all the topics that could possibly come up in this situation, he did not want to discuss his public humiliation by Franny’s hand.
The doctor turned to Anne. “I can see he’s chosen much better this time around, my dear. I’ve known both of your fathers for a good many years, and I’m certain you’ll make a much better Lady Hawkins whenever Gabriel decides to return home and take up his place on the Roll.”
Paul gaped like a fish out of water. “The Roll?”
Gabriel almost snorted when the old man tsk-tsked right in Paul’s face. “I’m speaking of when Gabriel returns home and takes up the title of the ninth baronet of Falcon Hall. He’ll be Sir Gabriel Hawkins then, which would make Anne Lady Hawkins.” Dr. Harris swung around and looked at Anne. “If I’m not being presumptuous here, my dear.”
Gabriel cupped her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Not at all, sir. Not at all.”
Anne was looking rather shocked. Gabriel smiled down at her, willing her to just go with it until they found private spot to have a chat. Finally she arranged her features into a polite smile and nodded to the doctor.
“Well I believe I’ll pay my respects to your father, Anne,” Dr. Harris said warmly. “It’s been lovely to see you all.”
Anne and Gabriel murmured their well wishes, but Paul and Rochelle seemed utterly frozen in place. Gabriel eyed the little git and wondered what move he’d make next.
“You made me look like a fool,” Paul hissed at Anne. “I cannot believe you stood there like a fat lump and let that poor man believe you could actually snag a man of this sort of caliber.”
Gabriel opened his mouth to put a stop to the tirade, but Anne beat him to it. “I’m sorry, Paul. Did that not go quite as you imagined it would? Did you make yourself feel worse instead of better? I can’t say I’m surprised. I figured a psychiatrist would understand the effects of short-dick syndrome on male behavior.” Anne leaned into Gabriel, the fingers digging into his arm the only indicator of her agitation. “Apparently I underestimated the severity of your issue. Although given how tiny your penis actually is, I should have anticipated this behavior.”
Phoenix Flying Page 16
